


Dreamcatchers

by imaginationem



Series: Path of the Righteous [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Journey Begins, BAMF Legolas Greenleaf, BAMF Tauriel, Drinking Problem, Elves for days, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Greenwood, Hurt/Comfort, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, Legolas's Brothers - Freeform, M/M, Miriel - Freeform, Mirkwood, Multi, Original Elvish Characters - Freeform, Plenty of Elves, Plot Bunny, Protective Elrond, Protective Radagast, Snark, Snarky Elrond, Surviving Torture, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil's Royal Sulkiness, Thranduil's wife - Freeform, Thredith, exasperated Elrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationem/pseuds/imaginationem
Summary: Caught adrift between two worlds and found floating down a river. What does her life amount to anymore?Set Pre-Hobbit.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> After a long awaited hiatus I have returned to AO3. Some of you may have read my foray into Avengers fan-fiction a while ago, a.k.a Parallax. Not long after that I was in a severe car accident and spent about six months in hospital straight. During that time I underwent intense physical therapy and to cope I wrote this story. It is a part of a much larger story that will be coming soon. 
> 
> This will be a multi-fic series. Warnings are in place for depictions of torture, alcoholism and other mentions of terrible things. 
> 
> Updates will be every Wednesday. 
> 
> The lyrics at the beginning of each chapter come from one of my favourite songs - River of Dreams (Billy Joel) - which I listened to a lot while writing this story.
> 
> Writing this chapter was quite tricky, Radagast is such an intriguing character so I hope I portrayed him fairly accurately. 
> 
> Please leave a review!

Chapter One

_“In the middle of the night_  
_I go walking in my sleep_  
_From the mountains of faith_  
_To a river so deep_ ”

 

It’s a cold, blustering morning as Radagast the Brown trundles his way through the forest, following the stream that leads away from Dale and back towards his home deep within the bowels of the trees. The destruction of Sauron’s forces was still felt across the lands and the smaller villages that dotted the lands of Rohan and he felt it important to give some help where he could. If he didn’t, he doubted that no one else would step up into his place.

Gandalf, ever the wanderer, still travelled from place to place, dealing with the elves and dwarves, often forgetting some of the small populations of humans. He also liked to spend quite a lot of time in the lush pastures of the Shire. Radagast liked Gandalf very much, much more than Saruman and as for the Blue Wizards . . . well who knows where they were and what they were doing at the best of times, but he had one track mind and it tended to leave others in the dust.

Radagast supposed that the elves could lend a hand or even the dwarves. However, a darkness had spread across the two kingdoms, Greenwood and Erebor respectively. Thror, King Under the Mountain, was delving deeper and deeper into the mountain, seeking treasures beyond the wildest imaginations of most. And as for Thranduil, well Radagast only assumed that the elven king’s recent losses of his wife and eldest sons had driven him deep into seclusion with his people. And thus, the Brown wizard was left to pick up the pieces.

He supposed it was hardly surprising that Thranduil mourned as he did. To lose not one, but three, precious lives so violently and suddenly would be taking its toll. All that was left of the royal line was Thranduil and his youngest son, Prince Legolas. The grief that remained would be catastrophic to the elven king’s soul.

A tiny sparrow twittered at Radagast’s ear. “Ah but of course,” he hummed in reply. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to pay him a visit. Check in on the young prince too, we shall.”

And with that the Brown wizard altered his course and began wending his away towards the path that would lead to the halls of the Greenwood. The wood elves were a ruthless bunch, always had been since their home was a prime location for enemy attack and was not as protected as Rivendell. Still the wood elves survived and flourished, and for that Radagast was grateful as it kept the trees green and the creatures he adored happy.

Radagast had never feared walking in the Greenwood – it was part of his home and the nature that thrived here gave him great joy – but on this day an odd sense of unease was settling over him. Perhaps it was the latent grief he knew he would find soon or maybe the darkness that Sauron brought still festered. For that reason, Radagast made sure to keep a ready hand at the dagger on his belt. Normally he felt no need to be armed but in these dark times . . . one could never be too careful.

It was getting close to dusk when Radagast reached the wider part of the river. He had followed the banks of the river for some miles and was starting to tire, he would have to stop for a break soon. As he came around the bend the Brown wizard’s eye was caught by a bundle of rags floating along the river. At first Radagast assumed it was just that – a bundle of old clothes discarded by a weary traveller. But then the bundle moved and two arms came free, waving and gesturing wildly.

“Help!” a feminine voice cried out. “Please! I can’t swim!”

Radagast gasped. “Oh, Valar above!” he cried. “Hold on!”

Just as the figure disappeared beneath the water Radagast launched himself into the icy cold water, his skin breaking out into thousands of goosepimples as the cold pierced his skin. He took a great gulp of air and dove beneath the surface, swimming frantically to reach the person that had called for his help. All he could see was a female figure with a cloud of light brown hair floating serenely in the waves, despite her obvious panic.

Radagast reached out and grabbed her around the waist. It would be pointless to try and swim back to shore against the current, he realised, and so he lifted his staff and aimed it for the shore. The spell propelled them out of the water and they crash landed on the riverbank, both soaking wet and gasping for air. The wizard quickly cast another spell, this time one to dry out their clothes quickly before he crawled over to the girl’s side.

It was then that he realised that it wasn’t a girl but a woman. She was curled up in the foetal position heaving and retching, her thin frame splayed out across the grass. The closer that Radagast looked though he realised several things. Not only was she a woman but the pointed tips of her ears and finely chiselled facial features revealed her to be an elf. The other thing that was obvious was that she had seen hell.

Her skin was covered in various cuts and bruises, all in different stages of healing, as well as being sallow and gaunt. The hair on her head was chocolate brown but it was filthy, covered in blood and grease. When her eyes shot open they were revealed to be ocean blue. What little clothes she had on were dark grey and stained with blood, vomit and Valar knew what else.

As Radagast moved towards her, she started to panic, skittering back from him like a spooked animal. He had to splay his hands quickly to stall her escape.

“It’s ok,” Radagast soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Leave me alone, please, I . . . I can’t . . .” the Elleth stammered. “Just pretend you didn’t see me . . . I have to . . . to go . . .”

Radagast moved to sit comfortable, kneeling before her and looking deep into the blue eyes. Most likely from a Sindarin background, they were synonymous with the cerulean blue irises. But the brown hair was interesting to say the least, Sindarin elves typically had the trademark blonde tresses. He could cast another spell, one to soothe her frazzled nerves but at this point he didn’t want to frighten her even more with his staff.

He then realised that some of the blood stains weren’t the typical dark red, there was black stains on her skin. A cold chill passed across Radagast’s skin . . . it was orc blood. By the Valar, what had happened to this poor young woman?

“I can help you,” Radagast told her gently. “I can get you somewhere safe. Back to your people?”

“My people . . . what?”

“You’re an elf . . .” he explained. “I can get you back to your home in the Greenwood.”

“I . .  I don’t . . .”

Before she could finish the sentence however she began to sway, her blue eyes rolled back into her head and she pitched forward, collapsing into a dead faint. Radagast had to rush forward to catch her before she hit the ground. Her head lolled back, sending her matted hair into a curtain across his robes. The poor thing was likely exhausted and if there was orc blood on her he doubted that it was from nothing good.

Only one thing for it . . . he would have to take her to Thranduil, he’d probably know how the poor creature had come to be covered in orc guts and her own blood, floating down the river.

*

Getting the elf maiden to the Greenwood hadn’t been easy. At first Radagast had tried to carry her but it made progress slow and cumbersome, particularly since he was getting concerned that the elleth’s condition was only worsening by the minute. He placed her gently on a small grassy patch by the road, sitting down to ponder the situation.

He had no horse, otherwise that would have been the easiest solution to get her there as quickly as possible. They were also too far out of Thranduil’s borders for them to come across any of his guards making their border patrols. If he didn’t come up with a solution and fast his new companion was going to die – elves always seemed to grow stronger when surrounded by their own people.

As Radagast sat on the path, his cloak wrapped around his companion like a blanket to keep a chill from taking hold and making things worse, two rabbits came hopping out from the undergrowth and started nosing around his ankles. The Brown wizard smiled at the little beings, reaching down to scratch one behind the ears.

“Good morning to you too, little ones. Rhosgobels if I’m not mistaken!” Radagast greeted. “So, any ideas on how to solve my quandary?” he asked.

If rabbits could speak Radagast was certain this would be a lot simpler. However, they did tilt their furry little heads at him before stamping their feet in a hurried tempo. Seconds later several more rabbits burst out of the bushes and assembled around Radagast’s feet. The wheels began turning in Radagast’s head and he made a soft sound of recognition.

“But of course, . . .” Radagast exclaimed in a low voice. He grabbed his staff and set off towards one of the mighty trees that stood by the road. “I must apologise my dear friend,” he said, running his hand over the bark. “But time is of the essence and I swear to you by the gods above that your bark shall be reborn into a mighty steed.”

*

Thranduil, son of Oropher and King of Woodland Realm, was half way through penning a letter when he was interrupted by a very flustered guard. The correspondence was addressed to Elrond of Rivendale, inviting him and his family to enjoy a celebration for Legolas’ upcoming birthday. Their kin in the west hadn’t been for a visit in years, thanks to Sauron’s destruction. He doubted whether many would come but Elrond and Arwen would make an appearance.

_In these dark times I find it important to celebrate small moments of happiness to ensure my people do not get swallowed into a dark void.  Legolas and myself would very much like to see you in better circumstances then we last met. Please send me a message by the  . . ._

“My lord!”

Thranduil looked up from his letter, huffing in irritation. The abrupt entry had startled him slightly and he had splattered ink across the bottom of the page. He would have to rewrite it now, it would not do to send an ink splattered letter to another lord. With a sigh of frustration, he replaced his quill and looked up. It was one of the newer guards, he looked nervous and flushed, clearly not used to being in his King’s presence. Said king exhaled, calming his frustration, and got up from his desk, sweeping around to his guard.

“What is it?” he asked, endeavouring to keep his voice calm.

“There’s a Wizard at the front gate, he’s demanding to see you my lord,” the guard explained. “He’s very agitated.”

“Which one is it?” Thranduil said, internally groaning. Where wizards came, trouble inevitably followed.

Last time a wizard came knocking at his door they had gone off to war.

“Radagast, my lord.”

Thranduil arched a thin blonde brow. What would that mad wizard want? Radagast tended to keep to himself, Gandalf was the only one who tended to make house calls, sometimes Saruman did but thankfully they were few and far between, Thranduil had always found the white wizard to be the most irritable. His attitude was always superior to anyone he spoke to, even Galadriel.

“Best let him in then,” the elven king instructed, waving his guard away. “Valar knows he’ll probably burst his way in here if we don’t.”

A few moments later the guard returned, in a much bigger state of panic and accompanied by Radagast. The Brown Wizard was missing his trademark heavy brown cloak and instead was clothed in light pants and undershirt. His matted hair was still under his trademark floppy hat. The wizard was carrying a large, weighty bundle and as soon as he was completely inside Thranduil’s private chambers, he laid the bundle down on the floor and allowed the coat to fall open, revealing what he carried.

Thranduil’s stomach plummeted and his mouth dropped open. A young elf maiden tumbled onto the floor. The King swept over to her side and knelt, dropping a hand to the pulse point on her neck. An erratic beat fluttered under his fingers and it stilled some of the fear simmering in his heart. Alive, but barely.

“Get down to the infirmary and bring the healer here, now,” Thranduil barked at the guard. He turned his ire on Radagast. “Where did you find this maiden?”

“She was drowning in the river a few hundred miles from here,” Radagast explained. He sounded a little out of breath. “I couldn’t get much out of her before she passed out but she’s been tortured. For years maybe. But I figured she was one of your kin so I brought her here quickly, she’s fading fast.”

“She’s definitely a Sindarin Elleth,” Thranduil acknowledged. He cast his eyes over her frame taking in every cut, every bruise, every horrid mark left on her skin. “But she is not a Woodland elf. I have never seen her before and I know every elf that lives in my kingdom.”

Radagast frowned. “But if she’s not from your lands then where did she come from?” he asked, twisting his hands in concern.

“Only she can tell us that. And right now, what she needs is a healer.”

The wizard fixed Thranduil with a stern look. “You will take care of her, won’t you?” he demanded. “Just because she’s not one of your people . . .”

The king hit back with a hard look of his own, lifting the young woman’s head into his lap. “She is an elf maiden and by my honour as King of the Woodland Realm no harm will come to her again. From what I can see she has endured horrors the likes of which we cannot begin to fathom.  If you dare suggest that I would abandon one of my kin you will not speak in my lands again,” Thranduil snarled.

The two males stared at each other, neither willing to back down from their alpha glare. They were interrupted when a newcomer stepped into the room. Thranduil looked up to see the chief healer, a stern, brisk elf known as Thredith. He was a severe looking man with his blonde hair braided tightly to his head and a hooked nose.

“Put the glares away you two,” he barked, dominating into the circle that had formed around the unconscious elleth. “You can decide who is in charge on your own time, right now this youngling needs my full attention.”

“Youngling?” Radagast asked. “How can you tell?”

“She’s got the full maturation in her cheekbones that’s certain,” Thredith explained, bending down to examine the patient. “But I’d hazard a guess she’s only just passed that recently. Of course, it is hard to tell with all the damage to her body. Now, I need to get her down to the infirmary and quickly.”

“I will assist you,” Thranduil said.

“And I’m going to go back to the river where I found her to see if I can figure out where she came from,” Radagast continued thoughtfully. “In her weakened condition she can’t have come far. I’ll report back when I know more.”

“You have my gratitude for bringing her to us,” Thranduil said stiffly. Despite his irritation with the wizard it was admirable that he had managed to get their new patient to them as quickly as he had. “In these times it is important we band together.”

“Well I wasn’t going to leave her there. There are still orcs prowling these lands plus a few stray goblins hiding away in tunnels. You really can’t be too careful.”

“Get a move on!” Thredith barked, placing a hand on the youngling’s forehead. “She needs medicine and fast!”

Once the wizard was gone Thranduil lifted the unconscious elleth into his arms and followed Thredith out into the hallway that would lead to the infirmary. The youngling was so light in his arms, she weighed barely anything, that Thranduil had to wonder what had happened to her. The poor creature had suffered so much that much was clear but only time would tell what horrors had befallen her.

The facial features were clearly Sindarin, Thranduil could tell that very easily, and he was certain that under her lashes were sky blue eyes. The hair was interesting, most Sindarin elves were blonde and here she was . . . a brunette. There were many questions that needed answering.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two.

 

 _“I must be looking for something,_  
_Something sacred I lost_  
 _But the river is wide_  
 _And it's too hard to cross.”_

 

The infirmary of the Greenwood was a large open chapel, the walls lined with beds for the sick, injured and weary. This was Thredith’s domain, one that he thrived in. He had been the Chief Healer since the days that Oropher ruled the lands. But in all his years he had never seen anything quite like this. The elleth that Radagast had brought them was lucky to be alive.

There were over a hundred deep cuts to her arms and torso, all in various stages of healing. When Thredith’s aides stripped the elleth of her dirty clothing he saw the mottled bruising that coated her chest and thighs, a clear sign that she had been punched and kicked repeatedly.

“These are not war injuries,” Thredith said sharply, meeting Thranduil’s gaze as he applied a special salve to a particularly deep cut. “I’ve seen this kind of injuries only once before. She’s been tortured. Orcs I’d say. The last time I saw injuries like this was when I helped in the healing of Lady Celebrían.”

The king’s eyes widened, if only for a moment. He was an enigmatic being and liked to keep things close to the chest. Thranduil had been there the day that Elrond had discovered his wife’s battered body, this Thredith remembered. The scream that tore from Elrond’s throat though . . . it was haunting.

“What orcs could have tortured her?” Thranduil asked. “Most of those foul creatures were sequestered in the Black Lands after Sauron’s defeat. Either that or they remain at Gundabad.”

Thredith ignored the stammer over the mention of Gundabad and exhaled deeply. “It is difficult to say but she’s got black blood on her clothes and skin. She fought them and hard. You were correct in your assumption, she is Sindarin. But I suspect one of her parents is Silvan at least, you would not see such dark tresses otherwise,” he grumbled. “I’ve given her a few potions to help kick start the healing process but what she needs most is rest.”

Thranduil inclined his head. “Of course. Whatever she needs,” he said. “I am curious as to where she has come from. Perhaps the Golden Wood? She is not one of ours.”

“No. It is hard to tell of course, she has been held in captivity for so long that her skin has yellowed and she is badly malnourished. When she wakes she will be very frightened, very confused and traumatised. She will need time and patience.”

“I will leave you to your work then.”

Once Thranduil had left the infirmary Thredith leant over to continue his examination. His eye was caught on a pendant that hung around the elleth’s neck. He had noticed it before but now he allowed himself a closer inspection. Though it was coated in grime and blood he could still make out the intricate silver work. It was a carved daisy pendant, adorned with tiny blue gems that twinkled gently under the dirt. It was not the work of elves that was for certain, more likely made by humans.

Thredith gently removed the pendant and set it aside. He would send it to be cleaned later that day, so it would be ready for when the elleth woke.

“Redress her in some clean clothes,” he instructed his aides. “I will mix her a dreamless sleep tonic, she will need it. The nightmares will soon begin.”

“Nightmares, sir?” one of his aides asked.

“Yes fool, nightmares,” the healer snapped. “You don’t survive torture without some mental scars.”

Once his aides had disappeared Thredith sank into the chair behind his desk, setting about mixing the tonic. His hand paused over some powdered seeds and he stared at the unconscious patient thoughtfully. Perhaps he would make some numbing cream to take the edge off the pain for the cuts and abrasions on her skin as well.

He was just mixing a pinch of athelas into the numbing cream when the door to the infirmary opened, bringing two elves clad in armour into the room. Thredith looked up and hushed the chattering pair with a single, torrid glare. It was then he realised that he was telling off Legolas, Prince of the Greenwood, and one of the guard, Tauriel.

“I have a very sick patient to attend to so if you two are finished behaving like a pair of Oliphant’s, perhaps you could tell me what it is you need?” Thredith snapped.

Legolas dropped his head into a bow. “My apologies, Master Healer,” he greeted. “We came seeking an audience with you. We had heard that Radagast brought a stranger into the Greenwood and we were curious to see if you had any insight.”

Thredith gestured to the unconscious elleth with a lazy hand, getting up from his seat and taking the completed cream over to begin applying it to her cuts. “You’re looking at her,” he said softly, endeavouring not to wake her. “Radagast found her drowning in the river, covered in orc blood.”

Tauriel, her halo of red hair plaited deftly and her dark eyes hooded with concern, moved to stand on the elleth’s other side. “She’s so thin,” she whispered. “What happened to her?”

“Torture at the hands of orcs. Years of it by the look of her. Until she comes around we won’t know more, and that won’t be for a while. Far better for her though to rest as long as she can.”

“How did orcs get their hands on a Woodland elf?!”

“She’s not a Woodland elf,” Legolas interrupted, peering at her face. “I haven’t seen her before. Then there’s the fact that we would know of a missing elf, my father would not have rested until we found them if we did have a missing member of our kin.”

Thredith watched Legolas for a moment. The elvish prince was staring transfixed at the young elleth. It was strange really, nothing ever held the prince’s attention for long unless it was training, a conversation with Tauriel or Thranduil, or spending time adjusting his bow. He’d known the prince since he was a babe in arms. As Legolas stared at the young elleth something very unexpected happened. The elleth’s eyes shot open, revealing startling blue eyes.

Within seconds the infirmary was filled with a petrified scream that bounced off the walls. The elf maiden, despite her horrific injuries, was desperately trying to escape her bed. Her attempts to get out of bed ultimately failed, Thredith concluded that she was simply too weak to be able to succeed. It didn’t stop her from trying and getting steadily more hysterical.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Please . . . I’ll leave just don’t touch me!”

Legolas reached out to try and calm her down but before he could reach her the elleth jerked away still screaming, tears now streaming down her freshly cleaned cheeks. Thredith stepped forward to try his luck, hoping that his calmer demeanour would perhaps keep her from feeling trapped. The trauma of being tortured was affecting her already and she’d only been conscious for a minute. But his approach only seemed to make things worse.

It was Tauriel though that managed to calm the situation, in the simplest of ways. She reached out and laid two fingers on the terrified elf maiden’s hand, took a deep calming breath and began to sing.

“ _Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh_  
  _Mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór_  
 _Seothín seo ho, nach mór é an taitneamh_  
 _Mo stóirín na leaba, na chodladh gan brón_.”

Thredith almost smiled. It was a Silvan lullaby, usually sung to children to help soothe them to sleep. It had a soothing melody, and was working quite effectively. The maiden relaxed gently against Tauriel’s touch. At the end of the verse the redhead began to hum gently, looking up at Legolas, her eyes sharp with instruction. To Thredith’s astonishment the prince began to hum along, their voices synchronising into a beautiful harmony.

Once the elleth’s breathing had calmed down and she was laid back against the pillow Tauriel reached out and smoothed her hair down.

“It’s alright, your safe here,” Tauriel soothed. “No one here will harm you.”

“Where am I?” the maiden asked.

“In the infirmary of the Greenwood,” Legolas answered, his own voice gentle. “In the lands of Thranduil, elven king.”

She frowned. “I’ve never heard that name before . . .” she muttered. “Does King Aldor still rule over the lands of Rohan?”

Thredith frowned. “My dear, the King of Rohan was slain decades ago,” he told her. “He was succeeded by King Helm who was recently killed in battle with the Dunderlings. How long were you held in captivity?”

Legolas seemed uncomfortable with the healer’s brash tone but he ignored it. To give the elleth the best care necessary he needed all the facts. If she had been held in captivity without sunlight for a long time she would need more treatment than he originally thought.

“It feels like I was there my entire life but I do know I was only ten when we were captured,” the maiden stuttered. “I . . . I am over a thousand now but. . . but I  . . . I don’t understand why . . .”

A look of pity crossed both Legolas and Tauriel’s face. To be held for so long . . . it was shocking to say the least but then it explained a lot about her condition. Thredith watched her closely, she was running her hands over the soft linen of the pillows and sheets in awe.

“So soft . . .” she whispered.

“What is your name youngling?” Thredith asked.

“Míriel,” the maiden replied softly. “My mother called me Míriel.”

“You were named for the Broideress?”

Míriel nodded weakly. “My mother was a weaver and so it made sense to name her only child after a great elven craftswoman.”

“What was your mother’s name?” Legolas asked curiously.

Before Míriel could answer though her eyes were beginning to get heavy and she began to flutter in and out of consciousness. Thredith placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder, stalling any more words that might come out. He led the prince away, leaving Tauriel to watch over the sleeping Míriel. Once they were far enough away Legolas tucked his hands behind his back, the very spitting image of his father.

“It is best not to push her,” Thredith said, forestalling any queries the prince may have. “The trauma is fresh. I do not want you to damage her more than she already is.”

“I understand. She is very brave. Did you listen to what she was saying?” Legolas asked softly, “She said ‘we’ were captured. She was not held alone.”

“You have keen ears my Prince. I have to make my report to your father, please excuse me.”

“You should go with him Legolas,” Tauriel piped up. “I think that the next time she wakes it would be better not to overwhelm her.”

“Will you be alright here by yourself?” Legolas asked, his face twisting in concern.

Tauriel raised an eyebrow at him. “I am a member of the Guard, my prince,” she huffed. “I am certain I can defend myself against a poor, defenceless, weakened elleth.”

The prince had the good grace to look cowed, and nodded sharply, before turning and following Thredith out into the hallway. Just before they moved out of earshot Tauriel heard the signature sound of Thredith’s hand connecting with the back of Legolas’ head. She smiled fondly. The chief healer was renowned for his no-nonsense attitude. In fact, he was the only one that could get away with berating Thranduil when the latter decided to drink an entire casket of Dorwinion wine.

Times were troubled, though for Tauriel this was nothing new. She had lived through the ages and had never seen times of peace. All she knew was pain and war, destruction flowed through the land, leaving bodies in its wake. Perhaps now that Sauron was defeated life could return to a time of peace and plenty. Tauriel had heard the stories that Thranduil told of a simpler, more peaceful time. The stories of festivals, dances and long celebrations that lasted for months at a time.

Stories that spoke of deeply held allegiances between elves, men and dwarves, each species bringing their own specialities to the world. Now they lay divided, Thranduil had cursed the dwarves long ago, almost spitting with rage the last time he had returned from Erebor. Tauriel didn’t know what had transpired between her king and the miners of the earth but she gathered it was nothing good. Even Legolas had been oddly quiet, a rare fury on his beautiful features.

And now this . . . a member of their kin brutally tortured and barely breathing.

“Where did you come from?” Tauriel murmured.

*

“You believe she was held with another prisoner?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes sire,” Thredith answered. “It was just a passing comment but if she was held with others, the filth that was holding them captive won’t be around much longer. They will cut their losses and run, the loss in Mordor has every dark creature terrified of men, elves and dwarves.”

“We need to find where they were keeping Míriel,” Legolas implored his father, stepping forward. “If we hurry we may catch some of the orcs and find out why they imprisoned our people.”

“Míriel?” Thranduil arched a brow. “She’s named after the Broideress?”

Legolas nodded. “I believe so. Her mother was a weaver and so wanted to name her daughter after an elven seamstress.”

Thranduil leaned back into his throne, drumming his fingers on the woven armrests in contemplative thought. “If they are still in our lands then they are a threat to our way of life,” he murmured. For a moment his gaze wandered, the cerulean blues glazing over as he pondered the situation.

“ _Ada_?”

The king stood up and looked at his son, his lips pursed together. He could not send his only surviving son into harm’s way, not yet, not with the filth of Sauron still roaming the lands.

“Tauriel will lead a hunting party to search for these creatures,” he barked. “No more than three soldiers, I want them to be able to move silently and swiftly. Legolas, you will remain behind. Míriel seems comfortable enough to open up to you, best to keep you close so that she isn’t overwhelmed.”

“ _Ada,_ perhaps it may be best that I lead the party. Tauriel has made a connection . . .” Legolas began.

“Tauriel will lead the party,” Thranduil snapped. “And that is the last I will hear about it. For now, we will leave Míriel to rest. Send Tauriel to my chambers immediately so we can select her team. You are dismissed.”

“ _Ada, lothron mín ped?!_ ”

“Dismissed, Legolas. I will see you at our evening meal.”

*

Legolas stormed out of the throne room, seething with anger. His father had always been stubborn but this was ridiculous. He was the best tracker in the kingdom and yet he was being forcibly kept behind lock and key. Thranduil was desperate to continue to treat him like a youngling, even though he had been of age for decades.

“Calm down,” Thredith muttered in his ear, grabbing his elbow and stopping the prince short. “What good will it do anyone if you make a scene?”

“He treats me like I am child again!” Legolas hissed. “I should be on that team and you know it.”

“Of course I know, I’m not an imbecile,” the healer huffed. His gaze softened. “Your father is trying to protect you, you are the only family he has left to him. The only reminder of your late mother and brothers, may the Valar watch over them.”

Legolas paused, a warm flush spreading up the back of his neck in his shame. He missed his brother’s every day. Syrthafin and Teren, though several years his senior had been his companions for many years. Tauriel had been a tag along when she was a child but then . . .

The prince shuddered, a cold chill had passed over his skin. Every time he thought about his brothers, or his mother, his skin would freeze over like he had taken a swim in the icy lakes of the northern reaches. Thredith was looking at him, a sympathetic look on his sharp features. The healer had been a part of the royal family’s life for as long as Legolas could remember but now, he couldn’t bear to look at the pity on the older elf’s face.

“You must be patient with your father, Legolas,” Thredith said. “To lose your mother is one thing, but also your brothers not even a year later, he is simply coping the way he knows best.”

“By drinking?” Legolas asked softly. When Thredith frowned in confusion he sighed. “Dorwinion wine, master healer. I’m his son. I dine with him regularly, it’s not that hard to miss.”

“Is he over indulging?” the healer asked, a deep concern rooted his voice.

“I don’t know. What he does in his chambers after I retire is his business.”

Thredith pursed his lips, a thin line appearing in his forehead. “Legolas, it is important you keep an eye on him. If it looks like he is spiralling you must tell me, immediately.”

Legolas could only nod, his voice had died now. His tongue felt heavy and the walls were closing in. He needed air and quickly. As soon as Thredith was out of his way he moved, escaping down a hallway and breaking into a run.

*

Every time Tauriel had to stand before her king she was filled with awe and terror. Thranduil commanded a great presence, his confidence and grace was a beauty in and off itself. Tauriel could remember the very first time she saw her King. He had coming riding up to the small village where she had lived with her parents, leading the armies of the Greenwood to fight back the hordes of orcs that had swarmed across her home.

She was the only survivor.

“My lord, what if the creatures are beyond our borders?” Tauriel asked. “We must find them, they cannot be allowed to get away with their treatment of our kin.”

“Our duties end where the border does,” Thranduil told her, bent over a piece of parchment that he was perusing. “I will not risk any unnecessary bloodshed.”

“If we do not find them what is to stop them from travelling throughout the lands pillaging and raping as they see fit?”

“The Rangers will stop them. They are remarkably resourceful when they need to be.”

“And what of Míriel?” Tauriel demanded. “She does not get the justice she so deserves. Those monsters beat her and worse. If we do not find them she will live the rest of her life in fear. She has suffered enough.”

Thranduil looked up at her, his attention caught at the tone in the guard’s voice. “I agree,” he told her. “But if we go on a wild hunt for these monsters and something happens, the guilt could destroy her even more. Also, I must consider the wellbeing of everyone that lives in these halls Tauriel, no more, no less. Now, which soldiers will you take?”

Tauriel exhaled. “Candír, he knows the borders better than anyone in the Guard,” she ticked off. “Golwendir, he’s got the sharpest eyes and can pick up the smallest of details. And Legolas of course.”

Thranduil balked. “Not Legolas,” he told her sharply. “I have instructed him to remain here to watch over Míriel. She apparently calmed for him.”

“With all due respect my lord,” Tauriel began. “It was actually me that she connected with. Legolas is the best tracker in the Greenwood, he should be I suppose since you taught him everything he knows. It would be irresponsible of me to not take him along. Or perhaps have him lead, I could stay and . . .”

“No. Do not ask me again, my answer is final. Now, your final choice?”

“I suppose Glavrion will have to do,” Tauriel sighed. “He’s a good tracker yes. Unfortunately, he also likes to run his mouth.”

The king smirked. “His father was the same. Could never shut him up. Very well, I shall send a missive to have them meet you at the front gates in a few hours,” he said, his professional manner slipping back into place. The smile was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “You are dismissed.”

Neither of them realised they were being listened to by a shadowy figure in the tunnel below Thranduil’s office.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so nice being back into the writing swing of things. I look forward to reading any feedback that you guys have to offer. I am also looking forward to portraying the elves as more three dimensional characters - a pet hate I have is when Thranduil is cast as the villain simply for ease when he's so complex and lovely to write.
> 
> The song that Tauriel sings is a Gaelic lullaby from my own childhood that my grandfather used to sing to me. 
> 
> Translations;
> 
> Ada - Father.  
> Adar, lothron mín ped - Father, may we speak?


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

_“And even though I know the river is wide_   
_I walk down every evening and I stand on the shore_   
_And try to cross to the opposite side_   
_So I can finally find out what I've been looking for.”_

 

Later that afternoon Tauriel was in her quarters, sharpening her weapons. She liked to keep her fighting knives in top condition as well as her arrows. They were going to be hunting orcs, if her weapons weren’t sharp then she would be fighting a losing battle. She would not let Thranduil down, even if she didn’t agree with his choices. However, something was niggling in her heart, a pull that urged her to stay. There was something about Míriel that brought out a protective instinct in her, a desire to keep the elleth safe.

She was running the whet stone over the second blade when there was a knock at the door. She looked up and got up from her bed, padding barefoot over to let in the visitor. The door opened to reveal Legolas, clad in full guard armour.

“Legolas, _nin cóon,_ what can I do for you?” Tauriel asked.

The prince made a face, like he had tasted something bitter. “Do not call me that,” he said, a hint of humorous begging in his voice. “May I come in?”

Tauriel grinned, and stepped to the side, allowing him inside. “It’s always amusing to watch your reaction,” she teased. “What can I do for you _mellon_?”

 “I’m coming with you on the hunting party,” Legolas told her.

The red head sighed. “Legolas, your father wants you to remain behind, you know that,” she insisted. “It will be good for Míriel to have a familiar face so she does not get frightened.”

“You and I both know that she would do better if you were to remain behind.”

“I cannot ignore my king’s command Legolas,” Tauriel gasped. “You are asking me to defy his orders. You know that I want to become a Captain one day, this would go against my standing.”

“My father has protected you since you arrived here,” Legolas reminded her, moving to stand by the far wall and lean against it. “Tauriel you will never disappoint him, unless you took off with a dwarf,” he joked. “But if you really are worried perhaps if you were to arrive a minute late and the party had already left because I convinced them that plans had changed you would be off the hook.”

Tauriel raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “Why are you so desperate to get out there?” she asked. “I’ll admit I see the folly of keeping you here as much as you do and by the Valar, I want to help Míriel, but I cannot let you take the blame for something like this.”

“My father will be angry at me for a time but he will get past it. All children have a rebellious phase, I guess it’s time for me to have mine.”

“You didn’t answer me, why do you want to go?”

The prince paused for a moment, as though he was wrestling with his words, bowing his head. “I want to protect my people. The terror I saw on her face haunts me. To think that something is crawling about our lands that has tortured one of our kin causes me great concern,” he explained. “My father is trying to protect me, I’m not blind to that fact. But I am an adult and I am more than capable of taking care of myself in a fight, he had Syrthafin teach me!”

Tauriel saw the flash of pain when he mentioned his eldest brother. Syrthafin had been one of the greatest warriors that the Greenwood had ever known. He had trained her for a little while before going off to fight in the war with Sauron. Legolas had been very close with Syrthafin and his other brother, Teren. The three were rarely apart. Things were much different now, Tauriel realised, Legolas was likely very lonely and placed such high expectations on himself as it was. Maybe this was another avenue for him to prove himself to Thranduil.

“I will let you do this on two conditions,” Tauriel sighed. Legolas looked up, smiling widely. “Don’t get overexcited, _pe-channas_ , you haven’t heard my conditions. One, you don’t let Thranduil know I knew about this or we will go a few rounds of the gauntlet and trust me, you will get bruised.”

“I accept your challenge,” Legolas smirked.

“Two! You take special care out there,” she cut him off. “I mean it Legolas. No stupid risks, no showing off just to prove that your better than Glavrion. I know what you two are like when your together.”

Legolas and Glavrion did not get on. The former did not appreciate Glavrion’s big mouth or lazy attitude whilst the latter thought Legolas to be a stuck-up prude who used his position as the son of the king to get further along in his professional career. Which of course was not true.  

The blonde pushed off the wall and flicked Tauriel’s nose, a familiar gesture that they had developed over the years. “I swear to you, I will come back alive and well. No promises on Glavrion’s condition though,” he said. “Please, tell Míriel that I will find the monsters that inflicted those appalling deeds on her. I will not fail her.”

Legolas gave her nose one last flick and walked back towards the door. Tauriel chewed on her bottom lip and turned to face his retreating back.

“Be safe, _mellon_ , please,” she pleaded softly.

He turned and looked at her, a small understanding smile on his face, and then he was gone, leaving Tauriel alone with her guilt.

*

Legolas felt no guilt nor trepidation when he arrived at the arranged meeting time that afternoon. He knew he should, to go against his father’s wishes was not something he relished, it had been Teren who was the rebellious son of the three. Thranduil used to lament that his middle child would send him to an early grave before sending Syrthafin off to stop whatever commotion Teren had managed to whip up.

The young prince couldn’t help but smile at the memory. He had never understood his brother’s passion for mischief before but now there was an odd sense of satisfaction at disobeying Thranduil’s orders.

“My lord Legolas!”

Legolas was broken out of his thoughts by the arrival of Candír. The elf in question had been a Captain in the guard for many years and was well liked and respected amongst the ranks. Candír was a small elf in stature but had broad shoulders and a thick neck that made him almost indestructible to fight against. His light brown hair was braided loosely and then woven into a bun at the nape of his neck but his brown eyes were always lit with an energy that nothing could snuff out.

“Candír, good to see that you are early,” Legolas greeted. “We should get moving as soon as possible.”

The Captain nodded, not even questioning Legolas’ presence or Tauriel’s absence. He was a shrewd man but respected orders, he would not question an order and Legolas suspected he never would. On the other hand, there was Glavrion, who had chosen that moment to arrive with Golwendir in tow.

Golwendir was tall, even by elvish standards, towering above even Thranduil at his full height. What he had in height he had almost double in speed and agility, his muscles were lean and wiry under the traditional armour.  He had blonde hair and blue eyes, a testament to the high-born Sindarin family from whence he came.

His cousin, Glavrion, was similar in appearance albeit it shorter by two heads at least. The younger elf was always ready with a retort, a snide remark or something equally irritating and invasive. If Legolas had his way the younger elf would have been removed from the Guard centuries ago but thanks to his high-born connections it would cause an uproar.

“You’re not supposed to be leading us,” Glavrion questioned as soon as he was within hearing range.

Legolas closed his eyes, praying for the patience he would need to not strangle his comrade. “There has been a last-minute change of plans. The King has need of Tauriel for another patrol tomorrow and so I will be taking her place.”

“Maybe Tauriel was frightened to be alone with three strapping elves such as ourselves!” Glavrion chortled, elbowing his cousin cheekily.

To his credit, Golwendir, glowered at his younger cousin and shot Legolas a sympathetic look. Candír levelled Glavrion with a glare that could melt iron and when he spoke it was with the authority of a natural leader.

“Hold your tongue youngling, it would not do you well to address your prince in such a tone,” Candír growled.

“It’s alright Candír,” Legolas said, holding up a hand to stop the situation. “Though if Glavrion thinks that Tauriel is afraid of him I would recommend he take up the gauntlet challenge with her. Perhaps he will learn a thing or two about true fear when he is beaten by an elleth.”

Glavrion flushed but thankfully, said nothing. Legolas smirked, that should nip things in the bud quick enough to ensure that the mission went smoothly. With everything settled Legolas gestured to his party and they moved out, disappearing into the depths of the murky darkness of the Greenwood.

*

“ _WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S GONE?!”_

Thranduil’s ire had been swift and loud. Tauriel almost winced as she stood before him in the throne room, watching as her king shot out of his seat, his blonde hair billowing in his rage. She had just arrived in his counsel and announced that the hunting party had already left, Legolas leading them.

“I’m afraid Legolas must have overheard our conversation and intercepted the rendezvous early,” Tauriel lied boldly, her arms tucked behind her back, so he would not see her fingers fidget. “I arrived dead on time and they were gone. The gate guards told me what happened. I came straight here. He would not come back unless I would drag him, kicking and screaming.”

The elven king was clearly bubbling with rage, he began to pace, his face had gone pure white with rage and, Tauriel suspected, rage.

“How could he be so stupid!” Thranduil cursed. “Stars above, its like Teren all over again!”

Tauriel kept her mouth shut at the mention of Thranduil’s middle son. “My lord, should I go after him?” she asked gently.

Thranduil ignored her. “I raised Legolas better than this!” he raged, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced before her. “Now here he is acting like an elfling barely past maturation! When I get my hands on him he can forget about patrols for a week!”

“My lord . . .”

“I should have kept him by my side until I was certain he wouldn’t do something stupid! What happens if they end up facing over a hundred orcs and they are overwhelmed!” Thranduil ranted. “Doesn’t he understand how dangerous things are out there?”

“I think that might be why he went, my lord,” Tauriel said, pitching her voice a little louder to get herself heard over the king’s angry ranting.

Thranduil stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her, his thick, dark eyebrows pulling together in concern. It was then that Tauriel saw the true measure of emotion reflected in his bright blue eyes. The fear was palpable, and it made her breath hitch in her throat. She could see it all. If something happened to Legolas whilst he was out there, she had a feeling that Thranduil would not survive it.

“What do you mean?” Thranduil asked, breaking into her reverie.

“Your son feels a deep connection to his home and his people, my lord,” Tauriel explained. “He has done for as long as I have known him. But he has had a sheltered life, he has not seen the horrors that you have seen, or I have seen, though he is as old as I am. You kept him safe, but he’s now seen that horror, he saw it the moment Míriel was brought into our home.

“He is a generous man, very kind,” Tauriel ploughed on, when Thranduil did not stop her. “He felt her pain from the moment he clapped eyes on her. He wants to stop that from happening to anyone else. You can see it written all over his face. He is trying to prove to you that he is capable of defending himself and the kingdom.”

Thranduil pursed his lips. “I see. That does not change the fact that he disobeyed a direct order and subjugated your command,” he said shortly, moving to sit back in his throne again. “Let him lead the party for now. But if I hear one whisper of trouble I want you ready to move, are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord. And, I apologise,” Tauriel said, bowing her head. “I should have thought ahead and realised that he might . . .”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Thranduil interrupted, holding up a hand to forestall any further arguments. “You followed my orders. No, it is Legolas who owes me an apology Tauriel. And believe me, he will be apologising to you as well for putting you in such a position.”

Tauriel did not speak, the guilty knowledge of her agreement with Legolas had turned her tongue to lead. Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them once more the emotion was gone, replaced by his usual cold indifferent mask.

“You are dismissed Tauriel,” he told her. “I wish to go and check on Míriel’s wellbeing.”

“I will escort you, my lord.”

*

When they arrived at the infirmary they found Thredith there attending to Míriel, applying salve to some of the cuts on her arms. She was awake now and the King found he was correct. She did have the blue eyes of the Sindar. Now that she was fully bathed and dressed in some fresh clothes the extent of her injuries was clearer.

Míriel’s skin was yellowing and thin, pressed tightly against every bone in her facial features. Her eyes, while bright and beautiful like every other member of their kind, were hollowed into her cheeks and left her looking thoroughly exhausted. Shining out from the lapels of the fresh clothes was a delicate silver pendant, decorated with blue stones. Upon their entrance she startled, trying to escape her bed once more. It wasn’t until Tauriel moved out from behind Thranduil that she relaxed.

“Hello Míriel, do you remember me?” Tauriel asked kindly, moving to stand by her bedside.

“You were here before,” the other elleth replied softly. Her voice was raw and dry, as though she had spent the better part of her life shouting and her throat was too abused to carry on. “Kissed by fire.”

Thranduil blinked. That terminology, it was common amongst Sindarin folk, particularly in Lothlórien. A clue to her heritage perhaps?

“Yes. I was here when you woke,” Tauriel continued, oblivious to what had just happened. “How are you feeling?”

“My body aches,” Míriel admitted. “And my memory is hazy, but the healer assures me it will return with time. I thank you for your hospitality. Once I am well enough to travel I will not bother you for long, I need to find my family.”

“Tell me about your family little one,” Thranduil spoke up, moving to stand at the foot of her bed. When she looked at him there was no recognition and yet, she dropped her head into a submissive bow nonetheless.

“Yes sir,” she said softly. “My mother and I lived in a small village to the south of Edoras.”

“I have never heard of an elf living among men in any circumstance,” Thranduil told her, his voice gentle but his tone commanding. He did not want to frighten the poor thing.

“I suppose that’s true. My mother was not an elf. She’s . . . she was . . . human,” Míriel admitted, her voice trembling. “My father was an elf. I was told that he was a warrior of Lothlórien. He was supposed to return for my mother as soon as he could but . . .  he ah, never did.”

Thranduil did some quick counting. Judging from the time she had been held for that would put her birth around the time of the end of the war with Sauron. Her father, whoever he was, must have been fighting in the armies against Sauron’s forces. The chances of him still being alive were slim. A quick glance at Tauriel proved that she too had figured it out.

“Do you know his name? I can write to Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood, and make some enquiries.”

“If I knew it I would tell you,” she said, her head hanging with shame. “My mother died before she could tell me. The last thing she told me was to find Lothlórien and my father would be there.”

“I see, my condolences for the loss of your mother,” Thranduil told her. He placed his hands on the edge of the bed. “You have suffered a great deal for someone so young. Will you tell me what happened?”

By Míriel’s bedside, Tauriel’s eyes flashed. It almost made Thranduil smile, he remembered the protective streak he had when Tauriel herself had been brought to the Greenwood, it was so strange to see it reflected in her face.

“Uh I can try,” Míriel stammered. “When I was about ten, maybe nine, our village was attacked by orcs. That was what Mother told me they were at least. So many people were killed, I remember the fields being soaked with blood. They captured us and took us away, we were the only survivors.”

Her voice was getting higher pitched and tears had begun to fill her eyes. Thranduil was about to stop her from speaking, to give her a chance to calm herself but she hurried on, determined to get everything out.

“The orcs were horrifying, they took pleasure in our fear but after a while that wasn’t enough. They hit me across the face once and Mother stood up to them. She demanded that they left me alone, in exchange she would let them do as they wish,” Míriel explained, the tears flowing thicker and faster. “For years they beat her, I could hear the crack of the whip and her screams, though she did try to stifle them.

“For a while Mother believed that my father would find us, that he would come riding in on a white horse and save the day,” she continued, openly crying now. “Then she stopped mentioning him at all, she would just talk about how he was a generous, kind person that would never stop loving us. I realised that perhaps my father was dead, that he had been killed in the war that I heard the orcs talking about a lot.”

“Ok, this is enough,” Tauriel spoke up, wrapping a protective arm around Míriel’s shaking body. “She needs a break.”

“No, no its okay,” Míriel said defiantly, shaking her head. She took a deep shuddering breath. “One night Mother woke me up late, she was acting strangely. I’d never seen her act like it before. She gave me her pendant and a set of daggers that my father made for her. Then she made me promise that the first chance I had I would run, run very fast and never look back. She begged me to find my father but then . . . they came for her. The orcs had been drinking that night, they were blood thirsty. They dragged her away and . . .  I never saw her again.”

Thranduil felt as though a stone had plummeted into his stomach. He had suspected that the elleth had been through hell, they all did, but this was far beyond anything he could have imagined. Míriel was trembling violently, her tongue darting out to wet her dried and cracked lips. At some point she had taken Tauriel’s hand and she clutched it now, the knuckles turning white with the pressure. Tauriel herself made no complaint.

“I waited for her to come back, I didn’t want to leave her alone,” Míriel cried. “I wanted us to go find my father together. But days passed and then months. The next time they came there was no one else to take but me. The whipping went on for hours, I remember biting down on my tongue.

“There was no chance to escape until a couple of days ago. So many years have passed now. I . . . I let her down,” she whimpered. “I did not escape soon enough. Maybe if I got out earlier and got some help she would still be alive. But now, she is certainly dead. Oh Valar, please forgive me!”

With that she burst into haunted wails, her entire body trembling as she sobbed into Tauriel’s arms. Thredith simply got up and walked away, turning his back to compose himself. Thranduil was suddenly very thankful that he had the glamour up. It had a double benefit, it helped hide his expressions as well as his scars.

The world was becoming more brutal with every passing day.

*

Thredith had to administer another potion to Míriel after that, for that Thranduil appeared to be grateful. A strange look had taken over the king’s features, an odd reverie that clouded his eyes and masked his features. Whilst Tauriel watched over the sleeping Míriel, keeping her dark eyes on the other elf, her red hair forming a fiery barrier between the two females and whatever horrors would come at them, Thredith stepped up to lead Thranduil aside.

“She is strong, braver than perhaps even she realises,” Thredith said, folding his arms behind his back. “It is strange though for orcs to keep prisoners for so long without good cause. They must have gotten some use out of them, lest they would have been killed sooner.”

“Yes . . .”

“My lord, we should inform the Lady Galadriel of her arrival. She may have some insight into Míriel’s lineage,” Thredith continued gently.

Thranduil nodded, seemingly coming back to his senses. “I will start making provisions for her so that we may escort her to the Golden Wood,” he said, his trademark sharpness coming back into his voice. “She should not travel until she is well enough of course but her fëa will heal quicker if she is with her kin.”

Tauriel came hurrying over. “My king, please do not send her away,” she beseeched. “She does not know her father’s name or even if he still lives. I fear that sending her away would do her more harm than good. She is also untrained, she has not been raised in the way of the elves. The stress that comes with learning that, combined with new environments will destroy her.”

“What would you have me do then?” Thranduil asked regally.

Thredith raised his eyebrows, Tauriel was taking a risk by questioning the king’s orders. He had seen many guards reduced to blubbering messes after questioning Thranduil’s orders. For some reason the king had always given Tauriel a little leeway, much the same as he did for Legolas. It was intriguing.

“Give her a choice,” Tauriel suggested, setting her jaw. “Give her the option of staying with us and forging a life, or going to Lothlórien. If she chooses to leave I will escort her myself. If she chooses to stay we can train her, make her a member of the Guard if she is good enough. Someone with her bravery and strength would make her a formidable addition, there are many among the Guard who could learn from that.”

Thredith eyed his king, it appeared to be a good suggestion and he was not overly fond of sending Míriel away so soon. The damage to her fëa could be catastrophic, the loss of her mother was already damaging her, that much was clear. She needed grounding for a while before being upheaved again. But it was Thranduil’s decision.

“Very well,” Thranduil allowed, meeting Tauriel’s gaze without qualms. “If she stays she is your responsibility.”

“Of course my lord.”

“You may misunderstand me Tauriel. You will be her guardian here amongst my halls. You will teach her to fight, you will teach her our ways, you will make her an asset to the kingdom,” Thranduil said sharply. “Think of it as training for your future captaincy.”

Tauriel gasped. “Captaincy, my king?”

“All your field tests have come back positive, Candír is very impressed with you. Normally the final test is to give you a patrol of your own however we have no openings at this point, so this will be your test.”

“I will not fail you,” Tauriel insisted, bowing low. “Nor will I fail her. She deserves that much.”

Thranduil smirked, clearly impressed. He turned to Thredith next. “Draw up a list of medicine she will require over the coming months. I will see to her new living quarters, preferably near Tauriel of course, a captain should keep their ward nearby.”

“Yes, my lord,” Thredith said. “She will only need another night here and she will be healed enough to have her own quarters.”

Thranduil nodded once more and turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving them alone. Thredith looked at Tauriel and noticed she was beaming, vibrating with pride and happiness. Well, it looked as though things were about to get very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos thus far! 
> 
> Look forward to hearing any feedback on this chapter. 
> 
> Translations;
> 
> Nin cóon – my prince  
> Mellon - Friend  
> Pe-channas – idiot (lacks intelligence)


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

 _“In the middle of the night_  
_I go walking in my sleep_  
 _Through the valley of fear_  
 _To a river so deep._ ”

 

Míriel stood in her new quarters, staring at her surroundings in awe. She had never had her own room before, certainly not on this scale at least. Her only homes had been their small cottage she’d lived in with her mother and the dank, dingy cell that had been her home for the better part a thousand years. Having so much space was an odd sort of freedom that she hadn’t experienced before. There was a large double bed built out of an old tree trunk, much like the rest of the furniture in the Greenwood, and decorated with a large green quilt.

She sank down onto the mattress and exhaled, feeling a strange sense of relaxation that she hadn’t had in a very long time. Her skin was so clean she could see the pale creases where scars were beginning to form. The clothes she was wearing belonged to Tauriel, they were quite large and hung loosely off her frame, it had been a long time since she’d had a decent meal.

The thought of food made her stomach rumble loudly. As if on cue there was a knock at the door, startling Míriel. She had to give herself a firm shake.

 _Get it together, this is a safe place, they have not harmed you so far,_ she told herself.

Míriel opened the door and Tauriel poked her head around the threshold, smiling widely. “Are you settling in well?” she asked.

The younger elf stood back and waved Tauriel in, before moving awkwardly backwards to sit down on the bed again. “Its all really nice,” she said. “I’ve never lived anywhere so light and open before. Is every room here this lavish?”

Tauriel chuckled. “If you think this is lavish I’d hate to know what you think the royal wing is like,” she laughed. “Our esteemed king has very specific tastes.”’

“So, the one who was questioning me is the King?” Míriel asked.

“That’s correct. My lord Thranduil has ruled these lands for nearly a thousand years,” Tauriel explained. “His son, the Prince Legolas, was there when you woke up the first time. He gave you a bit of a fright.”

“It was a bit disconcerting to suddenly come to and see bright blue eyes staring at me. It was actually a nice change,” Míriel said wistfully. “I guess I got used to seeing those monsters all the time that the change was not unwelcome. So, what happens now?”

Tauriel smiled. “Well first things first I’d say we get you something to eat,” she suggested. “You look like you could eat enough for an entire garrison right now. But after that, it’s up to you.”

“There’s options?”

The guard cocked her head, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Míriel, you have a lot to learn but the one thing you can be safe in the knowledge is that in life you will always have a choice,” Tauriel beseeched. She stepped forward and grasped Míriel by the shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eyes. “No matter what path you take from here on out, there is always a choice.”

Míriel chewed on her bottom lip, there was so much kindness in Tauriel’s eyes but the touch upon her skin felt foreign. It was strange to be touched in such a caring way and she had to shy away from Tauriel’s fingers with a strangled gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Tauriel spoke up softly, lowering her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that, my apologies. Are you alright?”

Míriel had to take a couple of deep breaths, her hands were shaking so badly she thought she might break all sense of control she had over the raging and spiralling fear and emotion that overwhelmed her. Her mother had a special way of coping with that fear when they’d been imprisoned, they had tried a few things to stay positive in the face of the never-ending darkness.

“Breathe in, two . . .  three . . . four,” she intoned, closing her eyes. “Breathe out, six . . . seven . . . eight.”

When she opened her eyes again Tauriel was looking at her with a curious gaze. Míriel blushed slightly, she didn’t realise elves stared so much. Thredith, the king and now Tauriel . . .  maybe it was an elvish oddity. Humans, like her mother, tended to shy away from prolonged eye contact. At least as far as she remembered, her memory was rather cloudy still.

“My mother taught me that technique when I was a little girl,” Míriel told her, rising from the bed. Instinctively she reached up and ran her fingers over her mother’s pendant, newly cleaned and polished. “I got frightened easily as a child and she didn’t want me to antagonise the orcs any further.”

“Your mother sounds like a very brave woman,” Tauriel said. “What was her name?”

“Roslyne, her name was Roslyne,” she replied, her throat running dry. At that moment her stomach growled again, catching Tauriel’s attention and making her laugh. “Sorry, I guess I’m a lot hungrier than I thought.”

Tauriel smiled broadly. “Well then we best move to the dining hall. Lunch was served about an hour ago, but the chef should have some leftovers for us.”

The older elf led the way out of Míriel’s quarters, not before the younger grabbed a small leather pouch and attached it to her hip. The pouch itself was very old and worn down from years of use, it reminded her of her home. Her mother had it made when she herself was a young girl. Tauriel admired it, tilting her head back so her hair fell down her shoulders and back.

“What’s in the pouch?” Tauriel asked.

Míriel was shutting the door when the question was asked, and she paused, staring at the dark wood for a moment. “Something to keep me safe,” she whispered hoarsely, turning to face Tauriel. She opened the pouch and pulled out a single throwing knife. “There’s ten in the set,” she explained. “My father gave them to my mother to keep her safe and she trained herself to use them. She taught me as much as she could whilst we were locked up.”

Tauriel gestured wordlessly at the knife and, albeit reluctantly, Míriel gently handed it over so that the other elleth could examine it. The blade was rusted and dulled from age, curved across one side to make for a better throwing weapon. The handles were beautiful, carved from cedar wood and infused with steel. The criss-cross designs woven across the handles gave them a signature elven look.

“These designs are beautiful. Hand crafted,” Tauriel complimented. “If your father gave them to your mother I’d wager he made them himself.”

Míriel shrugged, accepting the weapon back and stowing it in the pouch with its fellows. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know they’re probably not much use, but they saved my life a few days ago and I can’t fault them for that.”

“Second thing on the agenda after lunch is to get them fixed then. You can’t defend yourself with rusty blades.”

Tauriel turned to lead the way towards the kitchen and Míriel hurried to catch up with her, clearing her throat to capture the red-head’s attention.

“Tauriel,” she tried, her voice unsteady. “Thank you. For your kindness.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Tauriel replied. “Greenwood is a wonderful home to have. Granted we have a few spider problems now of course but we are getting them under control. If you so desire, it could be your home too.”

Míriel blinked in surprise. They barely knew her, and they would offer a place amongst their halls? A small warm fire opened in her heart and she couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed her face. But then again, if she wanted to find her father and his family she would have to travel to Lothlórien. A decision to make indeed . . .

*

The main dining hall was like every other room in the Greenwood, large and open, filled with streaming rays of light that poked through the foliage of the trees that hid them away. This hall was littered with a myriad of round tables, some larger than others. There were also a few small tables, tucked away in the darker corners to afford privacy if it was needed. At the end of the hall there was a small alleyway which would lead to the kitchens Míriel figured.

Tauriel made sure Míriel was seated comfortably at one of the shadowed tables before disappearing down into the kitchens and leaving Míriel alone to her thoughts. Tauriel had given her a very tempting offer. It had been so long since she’d had a safe place to call home, she couldn’t remember much of her home in Rohan. The only thing she could really remember was a tapestry that hung in her mother’s sitting room.

And yet, a deep calling came from deep within her . . .

_“Mamma? What’s going on?”_

_“Míriel, my love, we don’t have much time, so you must listen to me. Go to Lothlórien and find your father. Find your father and tell him everything. He will take care of you . . . promise me!”_

Míriel shook her head, trying to drive the memories back into the box she had put them in. Her skin felt cold now, as though she had been dunked into a vat of ice. She wanted to go to Lothlórien, she had promised her mother and the curiosity of finally knowing who her father was after all these years. She wondered what it would be like to look at him and see her blue eyes reflected at her.

Her mother had told her that she had her father’s eyes and the squareness of his jaw. She had seen herself in the reflection of the glass shards in the cell she had lived in and the brand-new mirror in her quarters here, but she wondered if seeing it reflected in another person would be different. Tauriel was so different from anyone else she’d met, with her red hair and dark brown eyes. It looked so foreign to her when all she could remember were orcs and her mother.

“Here we go,” Tauriel’s voice announced. She came into Míriel’s field of vision, holding two plates of food and settled herself at the table with her. “Wild mushroom soup with some bread. Its one of the chef’s specialities.”

“Thank you!” Míriel said gratefully, taking up her spoon to sample the soup. It was warm and flavourful, exploding with bursts of spice on her tongue. “This really is delicious.”

“Our chef has a lot of experience with spices. He’s travelled the Harad a few times and regularly meets with the Rangers to get the spices and recipes that they bring back from their travels.”

“Well he is my favourite chef by a mile,” Míriel said enthusiastically, wolfing down her soup.

She hadn’t had food such as this at all. During her childhood her mother had rationed them, not wanting others less fortunate to go hungry. And then of course whilst they were imprisoned they had lived on stale bread and water. The soup was thick and flavourful, melting in her mouth and soaking up the chunks of bread she used to mop up the last drops. Was everything here so extravagant and beautiful? The food, the living areas and the people. Her mother had warned her that elves would be stunning to the eye, their features carved from living marble.

“Would the king really allow me to stay?” Míriel asked suddenly, toying with the last crust of her bread. “I am a stranger, he barely knows me. He would allow me to stay, a stranger in his lands?”

Tauriel nodded emphatically. “I have already spoken to him,” she told her. “He will permit you to remain in the Greenwood but, of course, you will not stay for free. You will have to work, to learn and to contribute – just like any other elf who lives in these lands.”

“Of course! I don’t want anyone taking pity on me,” Míriel said, determined. “What can I do though? I am no healer, certainly no chef or blacksmith. I have no skills.”

“I believe you do,” Tauriel said forcefully, leaning forward. “And if I’m right, you will become one of the most valued assets to King Thranduil.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Your courage, Míriel. You have survived something that no elf in these lands has ever endured. You have lived through horrors that most would not even dream of in their worst nightmares. And through it all, you survived. Your courage and determination that is what will set you apart.”

“How does being brave help the realm?” Míriel scoffed.

Tauriel smirked. “I’m going to teach you how to fight and help you to pass the tests to become a member of the Guard,” she said. “That is, if you decide to stay.”

Míriel stared down at her empty plate, contemplating the decision that now lay before her. It was so confusing to have to make a snap decision.

“May I think on this offer?” she asked, twisting her fingers nervously.

“Of course. I am forgetting what you have been through. Your strength is a clever mask. I will escort you back to your rooms,” Tauriel apologised, inclining her head. “There is a bath at the back of our adjoining quarters. Please feel free to use it and relax.”

A bath. Míriel smiled broadly, that sounded heavenly. She had heard her mother talk about them only briefly, one that her father had done for her at one point to help her relax after a tiring day at the markets. Perhaps it would clear her head and allow her to think.

*

A thousand leagues away Legolas was camped with his hunting party, staring meditatively into their campfire. Candír sat directly to his left, tightening the string of his bow. They had been sitting together in a comfortable silence for the last few minutes, after instructing Golwendir to take Glavrion and scout the surrounding areas. They were far from any spider nests, but Legolas couldn’t help but feel slightly uneasy. He tried to convince himself that it was due to the nature of their venture, but he knew he would not be satisfied until the area was cleared.

Thankfully Glavrion had gone without complaint, instead preferring to scowl moodily as he took to the trees after his cousin.

“Something evil moves about these lands,” Candír remarked suddenly, his eyes still on the bow. “I do not believe that this is purely the work of orcs. If she was held for as long as she was that outlives any orc I’ve ever heard of. There is more at work here, I can sense it. The breeze is cold, icy with evil.”

“They would not dare to cross our borders,” Legolas said confidently. “Our armies proved decades ago that orcs will be dealt with quickly and painfully,” he paused. “I agree with you however. Míriel’s condition when she arrived in our lands was horrific. By the Valar, should I ever cross paths with those that harmed her, justice will be swift.”

“I hear there is a long line,” Candír said, smiling darkly. “All the years I have known your father I have never seen him react this way. I heard that he and Radagast had serious words when he first arrived with . . . Míriel you say?”

“Yes. I suspect that her condition reminded my father of Lady Celebrían, he was there when she was rescued. If evil is allowed to walk freely so close to our lands it could send us back to the Dark times, he will not make the mistake of allowing it to walk freely in our lands.”

Candír dipped his head in acknowledgement, resecuring his bow in one swift motion. He exhaled and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Legolas turned to look at his friend, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

“Glavrion’s attitude is not improving,” Candír explained, when he noticed Legolas’ enquiring gaze. “He grows vainer with the passing of the days. Golwendir is trying to reign him in but it is a difficult quest.”

“His head is filled with delusions of grandeur,” the prince sighed, taking one of his knives from his back and began to twirl it through his long fingers. “ _Ada_ told me once that his father believed them to be of high born blood, almost kin to that of my own heritage. We never found any evidence to the contrary. He grew up spoilt I believe, though I cannot speak for certain.”

Candír sniffed huffily. “High born or no, there is no need for his behaviour. Once you become a member of the Guard who you are matters not,” he grumbled. “That includes you, _nin cóon_ , no offence meant of course.”

“None taken _Iar mellon_.”

Something stopped them both in their tracks then, a loud snapping noise that caught their attention. Both elves leapt to their feet, weapons in hand. The noise had come from the north of their location and when they turned to face the source, the bushes began to shake and rustle violently. Legolas gritted his teeth and drew his other blade, settling into his fighting stance.

Let them come, he would do justice unto them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations;
> 
> nin coon - My Prince  
> Lar Mellon - old friend
> 
> Let me know what you guys think :)


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

 _“And I've been searching for something_  
_Taken out of my soul_  
 _Something I would never lose_  
 _Something somebody stole.”_  


 

“Try again. _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn_ _,_ ” Thredith instructed, speaking slowly and deliberately.

“ _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn_ ,” Míriel repeated, exhaling deeply.

After one long hour she was finally getting the hang of this new phrase that Thredith was trying to teach her. The healer had sent for her early that morning by messenger, wanting to check her bandages. When Míriel had mentioned wanting to learn a bit of Sindarin to help her communicate the older elf had jumped at the chance, steering her to a stool by his desk and pulling out a heavy phrase book.

A few hours later when Tauriel had poked her head in, looking for Míriel, the red head had joined the lesson, offering encouraging smiles and tea breaks as needed. Míriel was starting to get a little frustrated, she had hoped that her elvish heritage would make learning the language easier and it was frustrating to discover how difficult it was. She had expressed this to her teachers, her face pinched with stress.

“You are learning a new language way past your age of maturation,” Thredith explained kindly, though his face remained stern. “You are taking to it remarkably well, considering the situation you are in. Those who live in this realm have been speaking Sindarin for centuries. You must not be too hard on yourself.”

Míriel sighed, puffing out her cheeks in frustration. Her hair kept falling into her face and driving her crazy. How could someone focus with strands of hair falling across their eyes. Every elf she’d seen in her time in the Greenwood, a few days though it was, wore their hair down and braided. Míriel had tried to braid her own hair, attempting to copy the design that Tauriel had in her hair but so far had failed miserably.

“Perhaps you will concentrate more when you aren’t fussing with your hair,” Tauriel mused, from where she was stretched on a chaise lounge.

“I tried to braid it but . . . oh bother it all,” Míriel huffed. She reached up and removed the terrible braid she had, ruffling her hair and twisting it back behind her ears. Not for the first time she traced the tip of her pointed ears, a habit she had never managed to shake from her childhood. “Tauriel, could you . . . would you mind . . .”

“Braid your hair?” Tauriel finished, smiling widely. She sat up straight and beckoned her over. “Of course.”

“ _Le fael_ _._ ”

Thredith snapped his fingers. “Perfect pronunciation Míriel!” he told her. “You need to have more faith in yourself.”

Míriel settled onto the couch between Tauriel’s legs and tipped her head back, allowing the other elf to drag her fingers through her hair. It had been very long when she escaped from her prison. Within a few hours of being in her new home she had requested that one of her healers cut the locks that hung past her waist. Her dark brown tresses now hung between her shoulder blades.

“Pay attention to the feeling of this braid,” Tauriel said softly, working her long fingers into Míriel’s scalp. “This is one my mother taught me when I was an elfling. I was always running around and getting bramble stuck in my hair when it flowed freely. It is an easy one to do yourself.”

“Thank you Tauriel,” Míriel replied, her own voice just as soft. After a moment of pause she cleared her throat. “What is being an elf like?”

“What an odd question,” one of the healers nearby laughed. “Imagine that, an elf asking what it is like to be what they are.”

Míriel ducked her head in shame, feeling her skin burst into blush. Tauriel’s fingers stilled in their motion of braiding and she went rigid, an odd sort of anger and resentment bubbling forth. It was Thredith though that stood up, his back ramrod straight and a cold fury on his face. He simply marched over and grabbed the healer by the scruff of the neck and shoving him out of the room, leaving Tauriel and Míriel alone. The final thing they heard before silence was Thredith cursing in elvish.

At least Míriel assumed it was a curse, she was still getting the hang of Sindarin.

“Forget I asked,” she murmured, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t listen to him,” Tauriel insisted, spinning Míriel around to look her in the eyes. “Some folk here live in a small-minded world. They do not see beyond what they can understand. That whelp had no concept of who you are or what you have suffered. He has no idea that your question is well justified and well thought out. You lived your life as a mortal, as a human, and then as a captive. A very justified question indeed.”

“Are all of them like that?”

Tauriel shook her head emphatically. “No. I have taken great lengths to ensure that our people learn to adapt to change. Particularly amongst the Guard. Dark things move in the woods, creatures of evil and dread,” she said. “Legolas too, struggles against this. He has greater sway with the higher ups than I do of course, and they are more stubborn than the Guard. Legolas and I have seen things in the last few decades that are concerning. Orcs and goblins wreak havoc in the smaller villages and range unchecked. Spiders weave webs in our lands, the trees are turning to horrific colours.”

“I thought that when I escaped things would be better, be different. The darkness never ends,” Míriel lamented, the tears falling down her cheeks.

“There is good in this world _mellon_ and it is worth fighting for,” Tauriel insisted. “You have only to seek it out. Here in these halls no harm shall come to you, that I swear upon my blades. Do not lose hope I beg you.”

There was such fire in Tauriel’s eyes, such determination that Míriel couldn’t help but smile at her new friend. Was this what friendship was like then? It was such a nice feeling, a sense of security that did not waver and did not seem to break. For the first time in over a hundred years Míriel felt a swell of something in her heart, a sense of safety and . . . happiness.

“Elves are immortal, are they not?” Míriel asked, turning back to the subject at hand.

“We are yes. You are immortal as well, the blood of the Ñoldor flows through your veins and its strength has brought you to us. It is our duty to stand watch over Middle Earth, to protect those that cannot protect themselves.”

Míriel leaned back, her braids completed and drew her knees up into her chest. “I remember . . . my mother told me once that she feared for my father. She said that to love a mortal could be more painful than the sharpest of blades, to watch your lover age through the years whilst you remain unchanged. It almost broke them apart. But my father would not be dissuaded, he called her his One. I never understood what that meant but I think . . . I think I do now.”

“The legend of soulmates has been talked of for many centuries. I have never known its beauty, but I have heard it pulls you inexplicably to that being’s side,” Tauriel said firmly. “Your father loved your mother dearly if he believed her to be his One. It is not an endearment given lightly amongst our people. If he lives he must truly believe that she died during the war, else nothing would keep him from returning to her side. You must know this and do not forget it.”

Míriel shook her head. “I will not. She . . . she died protecting me, it would be a grave offense to her memory to tarnish the love that she shared with my father. And one day, the Valar willing, I will find him and tell him our story, just like I promised.”

The redheaded elf smiled so sweetly and with such empathy that Míriel felt as though she would start crying again. This woman, who barely knew her, would go to such lengths to help her. Such kindness, she had not known that it even existed in this world. Perhaps . . . perhaps this could be her home after all.

*

_Three Days Later . . ._

Thranduil paced in his throne room, his hands tucked behind his back, his nerves rattling around him like honeybees. Every so often he would shake his head, in attempt to swat them away, a nervous king didn’t make smart judgements and it would not do well for his subjects to see a weakness in him. But he couldn’t stop the fear.

Legolas had been gone for nearly a week now. A whole week it had been since Míriel had arrived on their doorstep and his son had stepped out of it. Thranduil had never felt so uneasy. The circumstances of Legolas’ departure left a chill in the air that everyone felt. Tauriel was starting to become uneasy as well, though Thranduil did not see much of her. The redhead spent most of her free time helping Míriel learn Sindarin with Thredith.

“Please,” Thranduil whispered to himself, closing his eyes. “By all that is good in this world, keep him safe. Bring him home.”

As if the gods themselves had been listening the doors to his throne room swung open, revealing Legolas and his hunting party. All four looked a little dishevelled, there was still a stick lodged in Glavrion’s hair. Out of all of them Legolas looked the most put together, Thranduil could see no physical injury on his son and he sighed with relief, settling back into his throne as majestically as he could manage, given the wave of relief flooding his system.

“You’ve returned safely,” he said haughtily. It was important that at this moment he was King Thranduil to all, rather than just Legolas’ father. “What news from the borders?”

If Legolas was shocked by his father’s tone he did not show it. “We followed a trail from the river to the far reaches of our borders at which point the tracks disappeared into the distance. We returned to the woods and discovered two orcs. I suspect they were trackers, sent to hunt down Míriel. They fell beneath our blades and we burned them, a warning to all their kind. We found no evidence of where they might have been holding her, she must have been held elsewhere,” he reported.

“None would be bold to torture an elf in these lands,” Candír added, his face dark. “Not even orcs are foolish enough.”

“Very true,” Thranduil nodded, he leant back into the throne, drumming his fingers on the arm rests. “It would have been too much to hope for that we could easily discover who did this Míriel. I am concerned that they are bold enough to cross into our lands.”

“They will die before they reach our door, _Ada_ ,” Legolas said, setting his jaw. “The air is changing, dark forces are moving freely, we felt it out there. The Greenwood will be safe, I swear it.”

“Your courage is appreciated and required at this time, my son. However, at this time your presence is needed within our lands. It’s important that we keep our borders secure by maintaining a heavy guard presence in the forest.”

Legolas frowned. “We aren’t going to investigate further?”

Thranduil stood up, exuding authority with ease. “No. We have no evidence to further suggest we should expand the search. Without knowing where exactly Míriel was held captive we could end up searching the countryside indefinitely with no clues as to where to look.”

Legolas’ irritation was clear, but he did not attempt to argue. Thranduil was grateful for this, h did not want to chastise his son in front of his comrade such as it was. Candír left shortly after, equipped with new patrols to give to the Guard and that left father and son alone. The younger did not seem to cow with embarrassment at having defied a direct order, like Teren might have done. Legolas set his jaw and in that moment Thranduil was reminded vividly of Syrthafin.

“You disobeyed your King’s command,” Thranduil snapped finally, breaking the tension. “Not only that, you disrespected the trust I had placed in Tauriel and shamed your friend. I should strip you of your rank amongst the guard immediately.”

“ _Ada,_ ”

“Do not interrupt me!” Thranduil shouted. He stalked into Legolas’ space. “You could have been killed! We have no way of knowing who or what held that poor girl and you went crashing off through the woods with zero thought to your own safety. I taught you better than this, Legolas.”

“I am not a child,” Legolas growled suddenly. His eyes had gone dark and he stood nose to nose with Thranduil now, a stark testament to how grown he was. “You will not treat me as one.”

“No, you are not a child. But if you continue to behave like a reckless youngling than I will treat you as such,” the King snarled. “You do not have the right to demand fair treatment if you are not deserving of it.”

“I survived!” the Prince cried, finally breaking away to move away from his father and spreading his arms wide. “I am alive. I successfully completed the task you asked of the team. Is that not enough!”

“You are not your brothers!” Thranduil bellowed, spit flying from his lips in his rage. “They were older and wiser than you, and they were still slain! Do not presume yourself better than they!”

Silence fell instantly, leaving the two elves staring at each other in horror. Legolas’ face had gone white, his eyes wide and wet with tears that would not fall. Thranduil felt his mouth fall open and he staggered backwards, shocked at the bile that had come from his voice. He had not meant to say that at all, it had come tumbling out in a split second. 

Before Thranduil could speak Legolas had fled, his blonde hair trailing behind him, leaving the King alone with his guilt and the silence that turned his skin to ice.

*

For the first time in a week Míriel finally had some time to herself. Thredith was busy brewing some new potions and Tauriel had been called away to attend a meeting with the Guard. She had been left to her own devices and for the most part she had stayed in her quarters, content to lounge on her bed and revel in the silence. After a while though the silence and the emptiness of the room began to close in on her and Míriel had finally fled the confines and let her feet lead her wherever they would take her.

The halls of the Greenwood were decorated modestly compared to the private rooms that Míriel had seen thus far. The white marble was ornately carved with whispering vines and large leaves, almost beckoning you to follow down the hallway. The long, winding corridors eventually led her out into a clearing in the open woods, littered with old targets that were splintered with arrows, old and new. The curiosity got the better of her and Míriel walked over to one of the fallen targets and traced the lines of the bullseye meditatively.

 _“Elves are the best shooters in all of Middle Earth. Whether it’s the arrow or the knife, they hit their target,”_ Míriel’s mother had told her once. _“Your father was one of the greatest archers I ever saw._ ”

Her father . . . an elf of Lothlórien and that was all she knew. How could she go to where he might be? He could be dead, Míriel wasn’t a fool, she knew the chances of him having survived the war were slim. And if he was alive, why hadn’t he tried to find them? It was just like Tauriel said, he likely thought her mother dead.

Míriel didn’t feel a drive to find him, not any more. There was nothing to prove her claims even if she did find him. She was not an elf to be proud of, she couldn’t speak the language, she tripped over her own two feet often and she couldn’t fight the way an elf could. She’d learnt one thing very quickly in her time in the Greenwood is that elves valued pride more than anything. She couldn’t bear it if she made her own father ashamed from the moment they met.

“You found the Grove I see,” a voice called to her.

Míriel jumped to her feet and stumbled, catching one foot behind her ankle and went sprawling, falling in a heap on the floor. When she looked up Legolas was standing over her, still clad in his hunting gear. There was a pinched look in his face which showed the stress he had been under in recent times but there was a warm smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy,” she babbled quickly, shooting to her feet more gracefully this time. “Two left feet, my mother called it.”

“It happens. Humans do have an inherent clumsiness that we, as elves, have no fear over,” Legolas waved her off. There was a pause. “Are you settling in well?”

“So far there isn’t anything to complain about,” Míriel joked weakly. “Tauriel is very kind. She’s been helping me by teaching me Sindarin, how to braid my hair properly and – if I want to – she’ll teach me hand to hand combat.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic at the prospect,” he pointed out, tipping his head to one side.

“Fighting never appeals to me, it never did me any good. It just got me hit harder,” she said awkwardly, turning away from Legolas to hide the tears that threatened to spill. Was she going to cry every time she talked about this?

“It is true. Violence should not be the answer to everything,” Legolas told her, moving to stand next to her. “But when you know how to handle yourself in a fight it can be a tool. That is all it must be, so you can survive, and you can protect those who are precious to you. A tool, nothing more. We can teach you, Tauriel is the best at hand to hand combat in these woods. I can teach you as well. I can teach you how to use those knives you carry around with you.”

Míriel blinked owlishly, her mouth hanging open in shock. “How did you?”

“Your instep on the right side is slightly deeper, its why you keep tripping over. Your over weighted, most likely by a weapon. More than likely a set of knives, I know that the women of Rohan favour weaponry they can conceal easily and since your mother is a daughter of Rohan it was an educated conclusion.”

“Did Tauriel tell you she was of Rohan?”

Legolas inclined his head. “That was all she had time to tell me. I’m not invited to the meeting she was attending, I am not in my father’s good graces, so it is better to avoid him where possible.”

“Is this because you stole Tauriel’s scouting job?” Míriel asked, raising her eyebrows. “I overheard Thredith talking about it with her. Well I think that was what they were talking about. They were speaking in Sindarin which I’m not exactly fluent in.”

“I did not steal it from her,” Legolas sniffed, moving away to set up the target nearby. “I relieved her of the duty that would keep her away from where she was needed most.”

Míriel scoffed. “That is a fancy way of agreeing with me isn’t it?” she laughed, ducking her head when he looked at her. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn like that.”

“Do not apologise for speaking your mind to me,” he told her, his attention focused on setting up the target. “I get treated with perfect manners by everyone in this place. Besides Tauriel of course. I am no different to you because of who my father is. In fact, I prefer you to be comfortable as possible, this is your home now and I want you to know that you are safe here, in every respect.”

“I’ve never met a prince before. I don’t really know how to act around royalty. I . . . I like it here. I don’t want to be kicked out for upsetting the wrong person.”

Legolas moved from the target, taking his bow from where it was slung across his shoulders and stretching out his neck. “There is a very slim chance of that,” he said. “We are all mindful of what you have suffered. . .”

“I don’t want your pity!”

“It is not pity,” Legolas interrupted her. “It is understanding. Acceptance that you have endured much and that we are willing to stand by you, as your comrades, as your kin.”

Míriel shut her mouth with a small snap. “ _Gwestol?”_ she asked softly, hoping she’d got the term right.

Legolas reached behind him and fired an arrow, lodging it dead in the centre of the bullseye with a cheeky smirk. “ _Tolo, govano ven_ ,” he replied. “It means, join us. Welcome to the Greenwood.”

*

Tauriel was mentally exhausted. Being groomed for captaincy was a dream come true and so when Candír had caught her in the hallways to tell her about the Captain’s meeting she had been excited, over the moon even that she was being given the opportunity to start learning. She hadn’t been surprised when Legolas wasn’t there, she knew that Thranduil would not be happy with his son. What she hadn’t counted on was the sheer amount of politics that was involved with the job.

It was all ridiculous as far as Tauriel could tell. All the Captains sitting in a room with Thranduil and his council, discussing new strategies that never got passed. Meanwhile, the members of the council hadn’t worked in the field for a millennium or more, if at all. It was a task for Tauriel to hold her tongue and not call their stupidity out right there and then. She’d managed it, somehow, and now all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath and forget about things for a while.

The water had just started to flow into the tub from the underground spring that ran beneath the palace wen Tauriel first heard it. At first, she thought she had imagined the noise, a strained whimper like someone was crying, but she passed it off as the creaking of the taps. But the next time it came it was louder and not coming from the plumbing.

Tauriel frowned and moved to the door that led to the adjoining room that Míriel had next door, pressing her ear to the hard wood to listen. She heard it again, louder and more grief stricken, pulling at her heart strings so she gently opened the door a crack to peer through.

Míriel’s room was darkened, save for a single candle burning at the nearby desk. The young elf was laid in bed, her hair loose across the pillow as she tossed and turned, clearly amid a terrible nightmare. Tauriel quickly moved into the room and grabbed the candle on her way, sitting herself on the bed beside Míriel before reaching over to wake the frightened elleth.

“Its okay, Míriel, wake up _mellon_ ,” Tauriel soothed, reaching over and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

The restless elleth shot up in bed with a strangled cry, almost knocking heads with Tauriel as she did so. Her body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that would chill her skin in moments so Tauriel quickly grabbed another blanket and draped it across Míriel’s shoulders.

“There now, it’s alright _mellon,_ ” she told her softly. “It was just a dream. A terrible, awful dream.”

Míriel burst into tears, her whole body shaking with terror and exhaustion. Tauriel couldn’t think of anything to say and so she just did what felt natural and drew Míriel into her body, hugging the younger one tightly to her. It wasn’t traditionally elvish way of offering comfort, but she knew that humans craved contact in times of stress.

Eventually Míriel’s sobs subsided to soft hiccups and the trembling stilled to a slight muscle murmur. Tauriel exhaled deeply and then released Míriel, holding her new friend at arm’s length to examine her.

“I keep seeing their eyes. The yellow, empty violence of it all. I hear their screeches in my head and then I see it . . . my mother lying dead covered in blood,” Míriel whispered hoarsely. “I couldn’t save her. I can’t protect myself, how could I have saved her?”

“You have to know that you did everything right Míriel,” Tauriel said gently. “You are alive today because of the decisions you and your mother made. Yes, she died but she died for you, you know that. You are strong, and you will get stronger, I will help you and so will Legolas.”

“I can’t face my father like this,” she admitted. “Half of a being. Half human, half elf. A mess of a woman who can barely sleep at night.”

“The nightmares are only as powerful as you let them be.”

“I’m just so . . . tired,” Míriel wept, dropping her head onto her knees. “This is the first place I’ve ever felt safe and I still can’t sleep.”

Tauriel watched her cry again for a few moments before reaching into the pocket of her cloak and drawing out the vial that Thredith had given her for emergencies. She reached out and touched Míriel on the shoulder, showing her the vial.

“It’s a dreamless sleep tonic,” Tauriel explained when she got a confused stare. “Thredith had it made for you. One drop will let you sleep without fear of night terrors. You can have some now if you would like.”

“I’m not weak. . .” Míriel sighed.

“No, you are not. There is nothing wrong with needing aid. Think of this as an extra weapon in your arsenal.”

Míriel took the vial and turned it over and over in her hands, staring down at with hollow eyes. Finally, after several long moments she unscrewed the top and administered a single drop onto her tongue. Tauriel smiled internally, she knew why Míriel was hesitant to take the tonic. She wanted to know that she could beat the terrors on her own. What Míriel didn’t know was that it would take time and right now, she needed rest to recharge.

Tauriel helped Míriel lay back down and settle into the blankets. Just as she was about to leave the room, Míriel’s hand shot out and grabbed hers.

“Tauriel,” she whispered sleepily. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

“Tauriel?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to stay here. If that’s still alright?”

Tauriel couldn’t hide the wide grin that split her features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn – a star shines on the hour of our meeting. 
> 
> Le fael - You are generous (Thank you)
> 
> Mellon - Friend
> 
> Gwestol - Do you promise?
> 
> Tolo, govano ven – Come, join us.
> 
> \- Thank you for all the Kudos and the Bookmarks thus far. Hope you enjoy this latest update.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

_“I don't know why I go walking at night_   
_But now I'm tired and I don't want to walk anymore_   
_I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life_   
_Until I find what it is that I've been looking for.”_

 

This was the second time that Míriel was meeting Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, and this time was no different than the last. Her first impression of the King was that he was the most powerful being she’d ever stood in front of. The confidence draped over him like a layer of silk, dripping off ever syllable. And yet, in those bright blue eyes there was a measure of kindness that Míriel could see buried behind the stoicism and power. It was the same look that she had seen in her mother’s eyes from the day they had been captured.

The fear and the determination to protect someone precious, all the while not letting that person worry.

“ _Le suilon hîr vuin_ ,” Míriel greeted, her voice stumbling slightly over the words she had been practicing since that morning. “I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to stay, considering the circumstances under which I arrived here.”

Thranduil seemed impressed with her polite tone. He leaned forward in his throne, fixing her with a soft smile. “It is the least I could do for someone who has suffered greatly,” he said regally. “You are welcome within these halls, Míriel. I have heard great things from my son and from Tauriel.”

They were standing side by side at Thranduil’s right side, smiling at her encouragingly. Well Tauriel was, Legolas was watching her with a mute expression on his face. Míriel suspected that he and Thranduil had yet to reconcile their differences. It had been two days since the Prince admitted that the two had fought and it appeared that nothing had changed. But during that time Míriel hadn’t seen much of Legolas, she was busy with Thredith and Tauriel, learning as much Sindarin as she could before her counsel with Thranduil, so she could not be certain.

“I am grateful for their kind words,” Míriel replied, bowing like Thredith taught her.

“You have a decision to make, of course,” Thranduil drawled, settling back into his throne. A rather ostentatious seat, carved from the antlers of a large elk. “I can arrange for safe passage to the Golden Wood so that you may seek out your kin there. Or, as I am certain Tauriel has informed you, you can stay here and become a part of my Guard. Should you pass the tests of course.”

Míriel nodded. “Both offers have equal draw to me,” she admitted. “The curiosity and the desire to find my father, and by extension my kin, is something I have long dreamed of. It was my mother’s dying wish that I find a home there. But in my heart, I suspect that now is not the right time for me to follow that desire. I may have the blood of the Ñoldor running through my veins, but I am not an elf, I cannot go to find my kin as anything less than that.”

“No one would think less of you once they understand,” Thranduil said.

“Perhaps. But I need to do this for myself. Your offer to train me and to teach me is the path I will take. For the first time in my life I have safety, a place that I can call my home. There are no words that I can speak that will ever be enough to thank you for your kindness.”

The King waved her words away. “It is the least I can do for a member of my kin,” he said. “True you may be half human, but you are of elvish blood and I will not turn you away. Not now, not ever.”

A warmth blossomed in Míriel’s chest, flooding all over her body. She locked eyes with Tauriel who gave her an approving nod, stepping down the levels to stand next to her.

“We have a lot of people to meet then,” Tauriel said, nudging her with an elbow. “By your leave, my King, I will take Míriel to get her equipped.”

Thranduil nodded. “Go,” he said.

Míriel bowed low once more and smiled brightly at her now King. “Thank you once again, my King,” she said sincerely, before allowing Tauriel to lead her from the room.

*

Legolas couldn’t believe how well Míriel was taking to her new surroundings. As he watched his new friend address his father, she did it with an ease borne of practice that belied her naivety of the situation. Her mask of formality never slipped, and Legolas had to wonder how she learned such an art. It sickened him when he realised that she learned it whilst tortured, beaten and held captive by those monsters.

Once the two females had left, Legolas found himself in the empty throne room with his father. He suddenly became very aware of how heavy the atmosphere had become, a suffocating heaviness that dragged on his lungs and raised goose bumps on his skin. He could tell that Thranduil was still angry, it oozed out of him like an invisible slime.

Legolas suddenly felt tired, the tension in his home was too much for him. It wasn’t worth it, was it? To fight and argue with his father, to hate and spread it in equal measure, what had it brought them in the end of it all? Awkward silences and regretted words. The younger elf huffed a large sigh and wheeled on his father, pinning his elder with a heavy glare.

“I’m not going to apologise,” Legolas said sharply. “I only did what you would have done in my place. I don’t remember a lot of Teren, but I remember him telling me that you were just like him. Mother told him. So, I will not apologise for that. I will apologise though for frightening you. I acted rashly and like a lesser elf than I have been raised to be.”

“Legolas . . .”

“I feel a strong connection to this place. The Greenwood is and always will be my home. I will do whatever is necessary to keep it and our people safe. _Ada,_ please. I saw her fear, I saw her pain. They were real, and I needed to know that I had done everything I could to make sure she was safe.”

“Legolas!” Thranduil said, raising his voice and rising to his feet. “Enough _nin réd_ _,_ I beg of you. I was hasty in my anger and I spoke to you in a manner that was reprehensible. I should not have mentioned your brothers in the manner I did.”

Legolas swallowed hard and dropped his head, refusing to meet his father’s guilty stare. “Can we agree then, to move past this and not speak of it again?” he asked softly, looking up when he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

Thranduil had placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled gently, the kind of smile that Legolas hadn’t seen for over a decade. No further words were spoken between them, it was enough.

*

The first place that Tauriel led Míriel to took them deep into the bowels of the halls, down several flights of stairs. Along the way Tauriel pointed out several strange passage ways, indicating the dark door ways and alleyways. When Míriel realised that what she was being shown was the passageways to the dungeons she felt as though a stone had slipped down her throat and hit her stomach hard. Though she knew she would never again be held as a prisoner it was unnerving, unsettling and left her frightened.

And so, she hurried to stay close to Tauriel after that.

Soon enough they arrived at a large archway with another set of stairs leading down into a darkness. But at the end of the darkness was a flickering flame, a warmth that called to Míriel despite the darkness. Tauriel leaned against the archway and then fixed her with an encouraging nod.

“Do you have the knives your mother gave you?” Tauriel asked.

Míriel nodded, her eyebrows furrowing. “They are always with me,” she said simply. “Just like you told me to.”

“Good. This is where the forges are. The blacksmiths work here, building weapons and keeping the Guard armed as need be,” the red head explained. “We’ll be able to get your blades fixed here as well as any other weapons you may need.  A member of the Guard must always be able to defend themselves.”

Míriel felt a rush of excitement. Oddly enough, the idea of having her mother’s blades restored to their former glory filled her with a warmth and pride. She remembered when Thredith handed back her mother’s pendant, clean and shining like it was brand new. It felt like having a true part of her family with her, it filled her with pride.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase they were greeted with the sight of a burly figure shuffling around the forges, murmuring an odd tune under his breath. Tauriel just held up a hand to Míriel and the pair stopped before a large wooden work bench, waiting for the smith to finish his tune and give them his full attention.

After a few minutes the smith finally finished his song and turned to face the two of them, drawing himself up to his full height. The elf in question was stocky and broad shouldered, he reminded Míriel a lot of the horsemen back in Rohan. He had a mane of dirty blonde hair that was pulled into a tight bun at the top of his head. It was at that point that Míriel realised that the elf was missing an ear and two fingers on the left side of his body.

“Master Megildur,” Tauriel greeted, bowing her head in respect. “I hope this day finds you well?”

“Well enough,” the older elf grumbled, limping forward. He was leaning heavily on a walking cane, a gnarled hand steadying his stance. “Your new arrows will be ready by the end of the week, no sooner and no later. I have never been late with a request and I don’t intend to start now. You harassing me is only going to delay the process.”

“I’m not here about that,” Tauriel said, raising one eyebrow sharply. “But thank you for the update. I have a recruit that needs her weapons fixed and she also needs a bow and a quiver.”

Megildur fixed his gaze on Míriel then, his small eyes narrowing at her as he took her in. He limped forward, his cane making a sharp noise every third step, to stand before her and give her a look over. It was a very odd feeling having someone stare at her with such intensity. He slowly moved around her, taking in her appearance and form.

“She’s got the build for a member of the Guard,” Megildur grouched, his voice gruff and abrasive. “She’s only half an elf though, you can see the features of men in her eyes. Tell me girl, do you find you trip over your feet a lot?!”

Míriel blushed. “Yes sir.”

“You’ll have to work this one hard,” Megildur continued, as though Míriel hadn’t spoken. “Elrond had the same problem when he was a boy. But he grew out of it. Now girl, tell me, what is your weapon that you have brought me?”

“I have brought a set of throwing knives that belonged to my mother,” Míriel said softly, suddenly feeling very small and inadequate after the smith’s comments. She reached around and removed the pouch, handing it over reluctantly. “They are rusted and old but Tauriel tells me that you are one of the best she has ever seen. I would in your debt if you would fix these for me.”

The smith laid the pouch gently on the table and withdrew the knives, caressing each one lovingly and with a gentle finger. He treated each piece of steel like the fairest of lovers, showering each tip of the blade with careful attention. It made her feel like she was intruding into a private moment, as though she had seen something she wasn’t meant to have seen. After a few moments of this Megildur looked up at her again, a very different expression on his face. It was kinder now, void of that brash anger from earlier.

“These blades were forged in the Golden Wood,” he said gently. “The steel sings to me of love, happiness and romance. A beacon of hope. These were made for someone held dear. By my guess, these were made as a gift for your human mother?”

“Yes,” Míriel choked, stamping down on her grief. “My father wished to protect my mother from the horrors of the world.”

“And now you will wield them. Give me four days, no more, and I shall have these knives returned to their former glory. They will cut through the meanest of opponents like slicing through butter when I am done. Fear not, your family’s honour shall shine from them.”

Míriel felt the compassion ins his words and bowed low, gratitude bubbling out of her. “Your kindness is welcome, Master Megildur,” she said, her voice wavering. “I shall not forget it.”

The smith just stared at her, his expression unfaltering, a mask to hide something he did not wish the world to see. And then the moment passed, leaving behind only an awkward silence. Megildur hobbled off towards a large table that was laden down with bows of every shape and size.

“Left or right hand?” he snapped, back to his gruff demeanour.

“I was taught to write my letters with my left hand,” she said slowly, unsure of what was going to come next. “But I throw a knife with my right hand.”

“Perfect. Either will work but judging by your smaller stature I think this will do,” Megildur said, tossing her one of the weapons.

She caught it with both hands, having to block it from hitting her square across the face. The bow itself was simple and only had a few carvings at each end of the bow. The bow itself was curved in a strange fashion, very different from what Míriel had seen Legolas or Tauriel use. It felt light and supple in her hands, and she tested the weight by tossing the bow from hand to hand.

“It’s a very touchy bow that one but if you treat it well you’ll never miss your mark,” Megildur called over his shoulder, searching through a few different quivers full of arrows. He settled on one that was made of the darkest ebony and tossed it to her. “There, that will do to match. The strap is brand new, so you won’t have any problems with it.”

“Its very light, a lot lighter than I thought it would be,” Míriel commented. “But thank you, Master Megildur.”

“Bah. Don’t mention it,” Megildur grumbled, waving them away. “Now off with the pair of you, I’ve got things to do and so do you.”

Tauriel nodded and took Míriel gently by the arm. “Thank you once again. We will see you in four days to pick up the completed blades.”

With another grumble that neither could distinguish Megildur went about his work and the two she-elves found their way back to the steps. Míriel still felt oddly lightweight after having relinquished the knives off her body. It felt as though she’d given up a part of herself. Even as they ascended the stairs she couldn’t help but take one last look over her shoulder to watch Megildur take her blades and shuffle off into the darkness.

Once they were out of earshot Míriel shot to Tauriel’s side. “What happened to him?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Tauriel paused for a moment. “He was attacked by orcs,” she admitted. “They captured his battalion, thinking to use the deaths of his warriors to torture him. The idea failed and so they attacked Megildur. He almost died and even then, he nearly lost his leg.”

Míriel swallowed harshly. “Your people have so much cause to hate the orcs. Why do you hide away in these halls and not chase them down to bring justice for your people?” she asked, her tone sharp. “You have the skills. I’ve heard tell of elvish warriors. Why would you not take the fight to them?”

Something flashed in Tauriel’s eyes and Míriel almost recoiled, regretting her tone in an instant. “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I just . . . for so long I wished for someone, for anyone to come riding into the hell hole I was living in and rescue me. No one ever came. No one saved me. It was unfair of me to speak as I did.”

“I am not angry,” Tauriel told her, stopping in her tracks and leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Like you, I too was a victim of the darkness and gore of those creatures. Orcs murdered my family when I was a youngling. For so long I dreamed of retribution, of revenge and it nearly consumed me. I lost a part of myself that I will never get back.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“You are gentle and kind, you have a capacity for forgiveness,” Tauriel continued. She smirked. “Do not misunderstand me, Míriel, I am not talking about forgiving the orcs. What I mean is you can take the terrible experiences that you had and turn them into something positive, to give back. Do not make my mistake and follow the path of revenge, it will swallow you whole and spit you out as a fractured being.”

Míriel stared at her curiously. “You speak as though you have walked that path.”

The redhead choked on her breath and nodded, only once and very sharp movement. “I nearly got myself killed. Were it not for the King I would be dead.  He gave me a choice, live to fight for my people or die a broken and lonely being. I like to believe I made the right choice.”

The two elleths stood there in silence, contemplating the words that had been spoken between them. As Míriel considered what Tauriel had said she noticed it, the sickening, rolling sensation of her insides. She placed both hands on her stomach, gasping as she felt the horrible anger bubble and twist within her.

“I feel it, the negative energy. The hatred, the pain, I feel it all,” Míriel cried softly, dropping to her knees. “Is this what revenge brings Tauriel? Is this what justice is meant to be?!”

Tauriel knelt before her, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “No _mellon_ ,” she insisted. “Justice is kind and justice will come one day. The world will right the wrongs that befell you and the stars will shine a little brighter on that day. What you feel is the grief and the anger that your suffering has on upon your fëa. You just did not know it before. As I told you, the road to becoming a member of the Guard will not be easy. This is but a small part of it.”

“What is my fëa?”

“I’ve heard it referred to by men as your soul, the spirit deep within you. We elves feel emotions so deeply, we feel it in our fëa as was intended by our creators. It is not uncommon for an elf to die of a broken heart. We love completely and love wholly, it as though we have given a part of ourselves.”

“Am I dying!?” Míriel gasped.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tauriel laughed, helping her to her feet. “You would know it if you were. The pain would rip apart your heart until there was nothing left. Remember Míriel, you are stronger than you know. Now come, we must get you some new clothes, I think mine are still far too big for you.”

*

Tauriel felt a deep sense of unease settle within her. It had been so long since she had spoken about her family, over three decades now. And it still left a burning sensation in her eyes and mouth, the grief that she could not eradicate no matter how hard she tried. It hadn’t felt wrong to tell Míriel, quite the opposite, for out of everyone in this place barring the King himself she understood the young elf’s desire for revenge.

It would surprise Tauriel more if Míriel didn’t express a desire for revenge. Even now, after she had time to come to terms with what had happened Tauriel couldn’t believe just how her new friend had survived the despicable torture that had been inflicted upon her day after day. It was important to Tauriel that she did not let Míriel succumb to the darkness of hatred and revenge. She had spoken true when she had told Míriel of her goodness.

There was something sweet and kind in her, something that the orcs hadn’t beaten out of her. It needed to be nurtured and saved.

So lost in her thoughts, Tauriel was, that she almost led Míriel past the next stop on their agenda. She came to a sudden halt and had to grab Míriel’s wrist when she stumbled at the sudden stop. At her companion’s questioning gaze Tauriel gestured to another hallway, this one lined with a multitude of fine fabrics and silks.

“This path will take us to the seamstress,” Tauriel explained. “You will need quite a few items of clothing, we can’t have you wearing my old training gear forever, now can we?”

Míriel blushed and shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Her eyes travelled the silks. “Tauriel, I appreciate the offer but I . . . I am a simple girl of Rohan. . . or I was . . . the point is I have no need for finery,” she stammered. “It is kind of you, but I cannot . . .”

“Nonsense! Our seamstress clothes the high born and the royal family it is true but she also makes the uniforms for all members of the Guard as well as simple, everyday garb,” Tauriel said, waving away Míriel’s arguments. “The King has insisted that you be given everything you need to start you off. So, think of it as following orders.”

Before the younger could argue Tauriel began leading her down the hallway, ushering her carefully into the room at the end of it. This room was a stark contrast to the smith. The halls of the seamstress were open and filled with an abundance of natural light. Piles of fabrics weighed down tables and in the centre of the room was a small dais, carved out of the old trunk of a tree. Míriel looked very uncomfortable in this space, almost as though she felt like she didn’t belong.

“Relax,” Tauriel told her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “You deserve something nice like this. I know you must be feeling out of sorts, but just a while longer and then I can take you to show you some more of the forest.”

This seemed to relax Míriel and it was just as well because the seamstress had arrived. She was a lithe creature, willowy and strong from head to toe. Her skin was paler than most other elves as she rarely ventured out in the sun for too long. Her hair, hanging loosely about her face was like spun gold, shining brightly in the light and alluring to every eye.

“Tauriel, welcome to my chambers,” she greeted, sweeping her hair up into an odd ponytail and securing it with a long leather strap. “The King told me that I should expect a visitor. A new addition I hear?”

Tauriel nodded. “Yes. This is Míriel,” she explained, gesturing a hand behind her. “Míriel, allow me to introduce the seamstress of the Greenwood, Vanya.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Míriel greeted, bowing low.

“Oh my!” Vanya laughed, the sound like peeling bells. “The King was not wrong. So very polite you are, my dear. You do not need to bow to me, sweet one, I am but a seamstress. Save that for the nobles if you please.”

“Of course, my apologies.”

Vanya ushered her new charge onto the dais and leaned backwards, a hand on her chin, to examine Míriel. Tauriel would have laughed if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable look that Míriel was shooting her way. Instead she offered what she hoped would be a reassuring smile.

“Very skinny dear, we must get some fat on your bones,” Vanya tutted, clearly not impressed. “But no matter, a few good meals will sort that nicely. Now we need a few things don’t we dear? Guard uniforms, everyday attire, some nightwear and oh! An evening gown!”

“Tauriel,” Míriel asked timidly. “Who is paying for all this?”

Tauriel shook her head. “Don’t worry about a thing, its all been taken care of by the King,” she told her. “I think that’ll do to start with Vanya. Perhaps you may be able to fashion in a holster to hold throwing knives as well?”

Vanya’s eyes lit up. “That is definitely something I can do. We can have them incorporated into the back of your uniform, easy to grab of course, very similar to the prince’s attire!” she chattered excitedly, hurrying over to a table and taking up a tape measure. “Now don’t blush Míriel. You’ll get used to us eventually, nothing is a problem here. Don’t stress, you’ll put lines in your face. Come on now, strip!”

Míriel squeaked. “What!?”

“I need you to take your clothes off dear. You can leave the slip on of course but I need to get your accurate measurements, or your clothes will end up looking like a potato sack.”

Shame and embarrassment flamed across Míriel’s cheeks and she began to tremble a little bit. Tauriel knew what was playing on her mind the moment the shift occurred. The scars that littered the elleths body were likely horrifying and embarrassing. Of course she wasn’t comfortable, the clothes had become a shield.

“One moment please Vanya,” Tauriel insisted, stepping up to the dais and taking Míriel’s hands in her own. When she spoke next it was softly and calmly, an attempt to keep her friend calm. “Your scars will not bother Vanya or myself. They are a part of who you are Míriel.”

“They’re ugly.”

“Yes,” Tauriel agreed sighing. “Yes, scars are ugly, but they are tragic and tell the story of where we have been. Do not fear them. Fear those who have never been scarred, for they have truly never faced hardship or learned the way that you have. You survived Míriel and that is what matters.”

After a moment or two, with a few tears running down her face, Míriel allowed Tauriel to gently undress and remove the heavier layers, leaving her standing in a slip. To her credit the young elleth held her head high and did not duck in the shame. She did close her eyes, the fear of seeing the horror reflected in another’s face was clearly too much and Tauriel could not begrudge her that when she stepped away, holding the old clothes tightly.

“Let’s see here,” Vanya began, snapping into a professional tone instantly. There was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes at the horror of the wounds and scars that littered Míriel’s body but she wisely did not say anything and began to measure, noting each number to herself on a small piece of parchment. “You are likely to grow a bit as you get your muscle mass back so we must make accounts for that. Perhaps a lot of straps so that you can tighten as appropriate might work. Do you prefer greens or browns my dear?”

“Uh green, I think,” Míriel stuttered.

“Perfect we can work with that, I’ve got some treated leather we can use for that. Of course, it all must allow for flexibility of movement too. Especially in armour, no point you wearing it if you can’t fight in it.”

This process continued on for a long while until eventually Vanya declared she was done. Once Míriel had dressed she left the room, presumably to calm herself down whilst Tauriel settled a few things with the seamstress. Vanya finally exhaled, her pity and exhaustion evident.

“The poor child,” she commented. “What she must have endured is . . . I cannot bear to think of it.”

“Better not to then,” Tauriel said. “She is brave though. I see a fire there, it just needs to be stoked.”

“Watch over her then,” Vanya said sharply. “She needs a consistent and strong friend. Not someone who is going to up and leave her. Her emotions rule her heart, you can see it plainly, a very human trait that is.”

“Her mother is of Rohan.”

“Well that would explain it. Now, will she be requiring a dress for the Prince’s birthday?” Vanya asked, releasing her hair from its strap. “A simple gown that makes a girl feel beautiful can work wonders you know.”

Tauriel hummed thoughtfully. “I hadn’t considered that,” she murmured. “It would be a lovely event for her to attend, a welcoming of sorts. She won’t accept finery on the King’s charity though, you saw her reaction. Charge the ballgown to my account.”

Vanya smiled. “You truly do care for her, don’t you,” she said warmly. “It is nice to see that façade of yours crack Tauriel. I will send some designs for you to look at this evening. You best go see that she’s not run off the garden path.”

“Thank you, Vanya,” Tauriel said and hurried away.

A nice dress could lift Míriel’s spirits and Tauriel was more than happy to pay for it. Míriel was her ward, it was time she started acting like it.

*

The pair were sharing their lunch in an open courtyard later that afternoon when Míriel realised they were most definitely not alone. At first, she dismissed the feeling, thinking herself crazy after spending all those years in captivity. But when she saw a similar expression on Tauriel’s face she sat up straighter and felt herself on edge quicker than blinking. Her companion’s hand went to the blade at her hip, ready to draw at a moment’s notice and then . . .

The King and another elf walked around the corner. Míriel let out a massive gush of air, unaware of how deeply she’d been holding her breath. Tauriel relaxed too, returning her attention to the mixture of nuts they were eating, plucking a few peanuts into her mouth.

“Our apologies ladies, we didn’t mean to startle you,” Thranduil said grandly, sweeping his hand to one side. “I trust that your day has been successful thus far.”

“Yes, thank you my Lord,” Míriel said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She did not know the other elf who was with the King, it would not do to insult him.

“I would like to extend an invitation for you to dine with Legolas and I tonight,” Thranduil continued, ignoring his guest. “Tauriel, you of course are invited as well. I would like to hear more about your mother and her wonderful qualities, if it would please you?”

Míriel’s eyes bugged open. Why was he taking such an interest in her? She would not refuse but still, so strange . . .

“I gladly accept your offer, thank you my King.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Tauriel added, looking as shocked as she was.

“You are forgetting your manners, old friend,” the unfamiliar elf spoke up then. “You have not introduced me to the newest addition to your kingdom.”

If Thranduil as irritated by the elf’s haughty tone he didn’t show it, instead just waving an errant hand as though swatting a fly.

“Of course. Allow me to introduce Míriel, daughter of Roslyne,” he said regally, offering a hand to Míriel and helping her to her feet. “She came to our halls in dire need and has elected to make the Greenwood her home at my offer. Míriel, this one of my oldest friends and closest confidant, Orthoron.”

Míriel met the elf’s gaze as bravely as she could. He had a harsh streak in his eyes, a dark pit that gave him strength and commanded the room at ease. But where Thranduil inspired patience and loyalty, this look inspired a different kind of respect. Fear, of a power that Míriel could sense lurking deep within Orthoron.

Physically he wasn’t very domineering, in fact he was of a similar stock to the King. He was tall, as was the way with elves, and had soft rounded shoulders. His blonde hair was braided a swirling motion from the top of his head and it snaked its way down the crown of his head and disappeared behind his pointed ears.

“Well met, my Lord Orthoron,” Míriel greeted politely, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“So you are the one I have heard so much about,” Orthoron said haughtily. He gave her a once over, tilting his head to one side. “I hope you are finding safety and tranquillity in your new home.”

“Very much so my Lord, thank you.”

“Excellent. Thranduil, we have a council meeting that requires our presence.”

Míriel sank back down onto the bench beside Tauriel, watching as the two males walked away, conversing in low voices. Tauriel had an odd look on her face, one that Míriel had never seen before.

“Who is Orthoron?” she asked.

“He’s a sorcerer, of sorts, deals in the magical arts,” Tauriel said, pursing her lips in disapproval. “He has learned from Radagast and the other wizards. He is also one of the royal advisors to the King. A very powerful being.”

“You don’t like him.”

“Magic is a dangerous power, it moves in strange ways that we do not understand nor will we ever,” Tauriel explained. “I think it is foolish to act rashly with such power. But he has aided us in so many situations and I cannot fault him for that. Orthoron is well respected and commands awe, he would never betray Thranduil.”

“But . . .”

“But he is a slimy being, I feel I need to bathe after speaking with him. Thankfully he prefers his own company to that of others. We best head to our chambers, we are dining with King tonight! We must be presentable of some sort,” Tauriel insisted.

Míriel just nodded and quickly followed her mentor’s lead, yet she couldn’t help but watch the space where Orthoron had been for a little moment longer, entranced by the power that she had felt within him. It had called to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Le suilon hîr vuin – I greet you my lord  
> Ada - father  
> nin réd – my son
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think?


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 

_“In the middle of the night_   
_I go walking in my sleep_   
_Through the jungle of doubt_   
_To a river so deep_   
_I know I'm searching for something.”_

*

“I think I have bruises on my bruises,” Míriel groaned, sinking down onto her bed and dropping backwards to relax into the covers. “Just when I think I’m getting the hang of this, I get dropped again.”

Tauriel just laughed and leant against the door frame. “You’re doing well. This kind of training doesn’t just happen overnight,” she chuckled. “It takes months, sometimes years, worth of bruises to achieve.”

“Tell that to my aching muscles.”

“Well at the very least I think you’ve earned a nice relaxing bath,” Tauriel told her. “I sent word ahead to get my day maid to fill the tub for you. I think they might have even put some lavender in it for relaxation.”

Míriel felt her face light up and she sat up quickly. “That sounds heavenly,” she sighed. “What about you, are you going to relax as well?”

“I actually have an errand or two to run. Now, go have a bath and relax alright? You’ve earned it.”

Tauriel gave her a parting smile and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Míriel got to her feet and padded into the bathroom she shared with her mentor, inhaling the sweet smells of the lavender. The bath was half filled with steaming, warm water and she wasted no time in stripping down out of her new training gear and slipping into the soothing water.

Almost instantly the aches and pains from her recent training session began to unwind, her muscles would have sighed in relief if they could. Some of her bruises were still there from her escape only months earlier. It was still a strange concept to Míriel. It only seemed like yesterday that she was cowering in a dark, cramped cell struggling to stay alive and yet here she was, alive and strong, with other elves no less.

Míriel only wished that her mother could have seen this.

The thought of her other caused Míriel to reach up and grasp the pendant around her neck. There were days where she could think of her mother and smile, remembering a happy thought or miss her laugh. There were other days that the grief of losing her was so harsh it took her breath away and left her floundering. In those moments she found it easier to hold on to her mother’s pendant and breathe.

Today had been odd, Míriel reflected, sinking deeper into the warm water and running her hands through her hair. People had been running around, clearly in a hurry, carrying large platters of food and barrels of wine. She hadn’t really had time to ask about the commotion, Tauriel kept her so busy with their hand to hand training it took all her concentration to not get beaten to a pulp. Legolas had been kept busy this week too, a few his kin from the west had arrived earlier that week and he was called upon to entertain them and so could not train with them.

Frankly, Míriel would be glad when all the hubbub was over with and things could get back to normal. Or what she considered as normal.

“Oh, I could soak in here forever,” she sighed aloud. “I must thank whoever came up with this idea.”

After a while the water temperature dropped and Míriel had to admit it was time to get out. She was moving back into her quarters, a soft robe wrapped around her body when there was a knock at the door. She looked up and raised an eyebrow, Tauriel normally left her to her own devices in the evenings and Legolas had yet to visit her quarters.

When she opened the door Míriel was shocked to see Tauriel standing there and she wasn’t alone. Vanya and another female elf as with her, carrying a pile of what looked to be satin sheets.

“Well you’ve had a bath a least,” Tauriel teased, moving into the room.

“What’s going on?” Míriel asked, her mouth running dry. Was it happening? Were they going to ask her to leave? “Tauriel?”

The other female noticed her panic and crossed to her quickly, giving her a comforting smile. “Don’t fret Míriel,” she told her. “Nothing is wrong _dilthen er_ , I just have a surprise for you. You’ve probably noticed a few extra people running about the place. King Thranduil is hosting a grand banquet to celebrate Legolas’ birthday, it is a very popular event.

“It is traditionally only attended by high serving members of the court and citizens of the realm,” Tauriel continued. “However, this evening, Thranduil has extended an invitation to both of us to attend tonight’s festivities.”

Míriel felt her jaw drop. “Oh no, no, I couldn’t!” she squeaked. “Such an important event would require me to have appropriate attire and I have no idea what to say or how to act . . .!”

“Relax,” Tauriel laughed. “You need only be yourself but if you are truly worried, stay close by my side tonight and I will guide you. Dealing with the upper class appears to be harder than it is, though I do complain about it. And as for having appropriate attire, I went ahead and had Vanya sort something for you. The ladies will help you into it whilst I bathe and get changed.”

With that Tauriel disappeared into the washroom, leaving Míriel standing alone in the room with Vanya and another elleth. Vanya practically danced across the floor, signalling to her assistant to start setting up.

“You’re going to look beautiful tonight,” Vanya swooned, all but dragging Míriel to the centre of the room. “Especially once you try on the gown I’ve made you. Really, I think I do my best work under pressure.”

Míriel waved her hands nervously. “Please, Madam Seamstress, I cannot accept this dress. It is too fine for a simple weaver’s daughter. I come from nothing, I should not be wearing such finery,” she insisted, blushing deep red in shame. “Please, take it back. I cannot accept charity like this.”

Vanya huffed and reached out, pinching Míriel’s ear between two slender fingers. “It isn’t charity,” she snapped. “Tauriel had it commissioned for you as a gift. It is common for elves with wards to give gifts, as parent would do for a child. It warms my heart to see Tauriel give to you so freely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tauriel has never had many she holds close or trusts. Her friendship with the prince is perhaps the closest I have observed her to have,” Vanya explained, leading Míriel gently to stand by the window and out of earshot from the washroom. “She has lost many that are dear to her. But since you have been here I have seen her open herself up for the first time in a century. No elf should spend their days alone.

“I understand how you must feel. There is so much about your life that has been hard for you and you want to feel as though you have earned the good things,” Vanya said. “I think I would feel the same if I was in your position. I have heard that those of Rohan value hard work, honour and perseverance above all else. Do not let your pride get in the way of accepting kindness. There is nothing wrong with asking for or accepting help.”

“Please my lady,” the assistant beseeched, bowing low. “It is a beautiful dress, perhaps just try it on at least. You must try it on, it would be a shame to let my master’s hard work go to waste.”

Míriel smiled and nodded. “Of course, I’ll try it on,” she said, laughing uncomfortably. “But please, I am not a lady, so you can call me Míriel, just like everyone else.”

The assistant clapped her hands with excitement. “Of course! Now quickly! The event is starting soon.”

Minutes later Míriel was dressed in the gown and Vanya led her over to the full-length mirror so she could see what the dress looked like. When she caught sight of her reflection Míriel’s jaw dropped and she gasped, a few tears springing into her eyes at what she saw. It was easily the finest piece of clothing she had ever owned. The fabric was lavender in colour and clung to her form beautifully, hugging her curves, what little she had now of course.

The dress was designed to sit off her shoulders and the neckline was criss-crossed at her bodice. The body of the gown was made from a soft, velvet material and was smooth on her skin. At the belt line there was intricately woven golden cord that secured the dress close to her hips. The sleeves were made of a completely different material, they were gossamer and hung like spider’s silk across her arms. She barely recognised herself.

“Oh Valar,” Míriel whispered. “Vanya this dress is . . .”

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Tauriel said as she came into the room, wrapped it a robe of her own. “Vanya the dress is stunning. It’s perfect.”

“Tauriel, did you really get this made for me?” Míriel asked softly, turning to face her and bowing her head. “It’s so beautiful.”

“A lady deserves to feel beautiful. You have worked very hard over the last couple of months, there is no reason why we cannot let our hair down as the humans say.”

Míriel had to giggle at that. She had taken to teaching Tauriel some of the sayings from the world of men. Her mentor had enjoyed learning some new and interesting phrases and had delighted in sharing them with some of the other guards. Candír had taken to telling the other Captains to give troublesome underlings ‘the cold shoulder’. Though at first, he had confused it and called it ‘ice shoulder’.

“Let me dress and then we can be on our way. Legolas is going to get quite a surprise when he sees you,” Tauriel laughed, the sound chiming like bells.

Míriel respectfully turned away to give her mentor some privacy changing, using that time to allow Vanya to weave her hair into a more formal style of braid. Once the seamstress had finished she gave Míriel a reassuring nudge and disappeared out the door with her assistant, leaving her alone with Tauriel. When the younger elf turned she gasped at the sight of her elder.

Tauriel’s gown was figure hugging just like hers, but it showed off her lean and rigid muscle form in a delicate way. The dress was in shades of purple-brown and set Tauriel’s red hair off like a mighty fire, glistening in the waning sunlight. Along the edges was shining silver embroidery that danced like leaves and vines in the fabric. Like Míriel’s the sleeves were made of lighter fabric and she could see the outline of the hard, muscular arms that Tauriel sported.

“You look beautiful _nin onórë_ ,” Míriel said quickly. She registered what she had just called Tauriel and her mouth fell open, as she attempted to take back the term of endearment. “Forgive me I shouldn’t have . . .”

“Why?” Tauriel asked, her fingers deftly weaving her own braids. “I do not take offense to it. In some parts of Elvish culture being referred to as a sister is a compliment, there isn’t really a word for mentor in Sindarin or Quenyan. I know what you are trying to say.”

“ _Le fael_ , Tauriel.”

“Let us go then, _dilthen er_ , and have a wonderful night!”

*

Legolas had never been one to enjoy being the centre of attention. He had always found himself more content to be in the shadows and live a simple existence. He was the third son of a king after all. His chances of becoming the heir to the throne had been so slim and Syrthafin played the centre of attention so well. He had dined with dignitaries, fought on the front lines and had even led the way into battle.

Syrthafin had been the cool, calm and collected one. He had been the most like their father out of all three of them. If Legolas hadn’t grown up with them he would have struggled to tell his brother and father apart. The only discernible difference was that Syrthafin had inherited a slightly lighter shade of blue eyes from their mother, so much so that they bordered on being a greyish-silver. Syrthafin was also the one that insisted on telling a younger Legolas stories of their mother when Thranduil was too deep in his cups to notice.

There had been an unspoken rule in the royal family when Valaina died, that her death, her memory and her presence was never spoken of. From a young age Legolas had yearned to know more of the woman who had been taken from them so horrifically. Syrthafin had indulged his curious mind and patiently answered every question his baby brother had, whiling away the hours with him in front of the fire.

_“Syrthafin, what was Mother’s laugh like?”_

_“Hm. She laughed so often that I remember it clearly. It was soft and sweet, starting small in her throat like tiny bells that the orchestra play. Her laugh was so infectious that you could not help but join in the pleasure she was finding.”_

Sometimes Teren would join them, choosing to hover at the doorway in an almost sulky mood. As Legolas got older he began to realise that his middle brother was keeping a watchful eye and ear on the hallways to make sure that any nosy guards weren’t going to go whispering in Thranduil’s ear. There had even been a rumour that Thranduil had been so drunk one night that he had come to blows with his older sons.

Legolas had never mentioned this knowledge to his father and he knew he never would. Some things were better left unsaid. It appeared that Thranduil was improving now, despite having lost both of his older children. He still drank excessively though, and Legolas suspected that would never change. It took a lot to get an elf drunk, their bodies had such a high alcohol tolerance it was difficult to even get tipsy.

But Syrthafin was gone now and had been for many years. Legolas was the heir now, the last surviving son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. And that meant a lot had changed. He was the one who joined his father on diplomatic missions, it was he who sat on the council at his father’s side and he represented the royal family in the Guard, as was tradition. It also meant that his birthday was destined to be a large occasion.

Nearly every elf in the Greenwood had been invited to the party that night as well as Elrond and his daughter, Arwen. It was uncomfortable for Legolas, having so many eyes on him all at once, criticising his every move. The expectations were greater now, he had to honour his brother’s memory. This was the only way he knew how.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Candír said conversationally, as though he was simply discussing the weather. He was at Legolas’ left side, dressed in his finery but still carrying a blade ready at his hip. “Wouldn’t do for you to leave before the festivities really get underway.”

The party had started a few hours ago and in that time Legolas had only had the time to speak with the high-ranking officials of the kingdom. He yearned to go and seek out Tauriel and Míriel, to get back to a sense of normality. The two females treated him like he was normal. He wasn’t Prince Legolas, heir to the throne of the Greenwood. He was Legolas, their friend.

“I would rather strangle myself with a slip knot of wire before I have to talk to another high ranked member of the council,” Legolas grumbled.

“You have a natural talent for diplomacy my lord,” Candír laughed. “Despite your reservations. I don’t recall a single leader I’ve ever known to be a fan of dealing with such drivel. It seems to be a special talent of your family though. In this case though I think you’ve more than filled a decent amount of time with this lot. I spotted Tauriel by the balcony with Míriel earlier, you have an hour or so before Thranduil makes his speech. Go.”

Legolas gratefully smiled at his comrade, bowed his head once and slipped away into the crowd. The large ballroom was filled to bursting with elves from not only the Greenwood but the small villages that littered the lands nearby as well as the contingent from Rivendell. No one had come from the Golden Wood, Galadriel still guarded her people jealously after having lost so many in the war. For that Legolas was slightly grateful, if the elves of the Golden Wood had arrived it would have caused more stress for Míriel. She was blossoming, and Legolas couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

He was proud of Míriel, she had taken to living as an elf with such ease that Legolas had been floored when he’d watch his new friend spar with Tauriel. She struggled yes and stumbled over her own feet often, at which time Tauriel would throw her to the floor. But every time she got back up and faced Tauriel once again, each time last a little bit longer and making a little bit more headway. He was equally proud of Tauriel. He had never seen her take such a keen interest in another being before. She had been but a shell and now she was growing, stretching upwards like a mighty oak.

It didn’t take long to find the two females, standing exactly where Candír had said they’d be. When Legolas caught sight of them he was floored. He had seen Tauriel in her dress before, she’d worn it to the last big event they’d had, it was a perfect fit for her body. However, he had only ever seen Míriel in her brand-new training gear or in the old borrowed clothes that Tauriel had lent her.

The gown was beautiful and complimented her chocolate brown hair perfectly. She looked every bit the regal elf she was born to be.

“There he is!” Tauriel greeted him as he drew near. “Best wishes to you _nin cóon_.”

“If you call me that again we will go on the Gauntlet,” Legolas warned, though he grinned at them. “I must compliment you Míriel, you are a vision in that gown.”

The younger elleth blushed deeply. “ _Le fael,_ Legolas,” she stammered shyly. “Tauriel had the dress made for me. It is strange to be wearing such fine clothing.”

“The colour suits you. And Tauriel, you look beautiful as well.”

Tauriel paid the compliment no mind. “There is a lot of people here tonight,” she mused. “Elves from the whole of the Greenwood. Your father went all out this year.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “It is excessive,” he sighed. “There is no need for such a lavish event when there are others in dire need of help. But I am not ungrateful, it has been a good night filled with festivities.”

There was no chance for anyone to reply to Legolas when a loud gong sounded in the ballroom, drawing the attention of the crowd to where Thranduil had centred himself in the middle of the room, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face. Legolas recognised the grin as being half inebriated. He sighed inwardly, he only hoped that Thranduil was not so drunk that he would embarrass himself in front of such a large crowd.

“Friends, comrades and my people of the Greenwood!” Thranduil called, his voice booming across the hallway. “I welcome you to my halls tonight with open arms and hope that you have found peace, good food and bountiful conversation. On this night we have come together to celebrate my son, Prince Legolas!”

A cheer went up from the crowd and Legolas suddenly found all eyes focused on him, the clapping and cheering was moving to a roar. He hated it when people stared like that, like he was a rare jewel to be coveted. But this was part of the game, this Legolas had accepted as his fate. So he raised a regal hand and gave a wave to the crowd.

“The formalities are over, the musicians are ready to play,” Thranduil continued, puffing out his chest. “So, I invite you to come and dance the night away.”

With those words the band struck up a tune and the crowd began to disperse, moving towards the dance floor that was now illuminated by hundreds of fireflies. Legolas exhaled quickly, moving back to the sanctuary he had found with the two females. Tauriel fixed him with a gimlet eye.

“It is expected that you should dance Legolas,” she warned. “Thranduil will come looking for you if you do not.”

“That would leave one of you alone,” Legolas protested. “It is fine. If this night is to celebrate me than I should be free to choose how best to spend my time.”

“Perhaps I can be of service,” a new voice broke in. “I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting the newest addition to the Greenwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> nin onórë – my sister  
> le fael - you are generous (thank you)  
> dilthen er - little one  
> nin coon - my prince
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks thus far! Hopefully you enjoy this chapter!


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

 

 _“Something so undefined_  
_That it can only be seen_  
 _By the eyes of the blind_  
 _In the middle of the night.”_

Míriel eyed the newcomer warily, taking in his appearance with a quick sweeping gaze. He was an elf and as such was tall and graceful, his limbs lithe and muscular. The elf was a high born, Míriel could tell just by looking at his fine clothing and the delicate golden circlet that hung on his head. He had a very kind looking face and he was eyeing her with a very keen interest, a curiously that radiated from his body.

“Lord Elrond,” Legolas greeted formally, giving a sweeping bow to the newcomer. “I thank you for travelling such a long way for this night.”

“Your father made an excellent point in his invitation that it is important to celebrate the small things in life rather than focus on the darkness,” Elrond said whimsically. “However, on my travels I heard tell from your border guards of an elf maiden who defied the odds and survived capture and torture at the hands of orcs.”

Míriel blanched. Well he certainly got straight to the point, didn’t he? She shuffled uncomfortably but Tauriel simply stepped into her side. Feeling a surge of confidence Míriel lifted her head and nodded briefly, stepping up to Legolas’ side to greet Elrond.

“That would be me, my Lord,” she said. “ _Mae g’ovannen._ I apologise, my Elvish is still fresh.”

Elrond waved away her concerns before turning to Legolas. “The next dance will be starting soon. Perhaps you could take Tauriel so that Míriel can honour me with a dance?” he suggested.

Legolas looked at Míriel, asking her a silent question. _You don’t have to if you don’t want to,_ she interpreted the look as saying. But Elrond seemed kind enough. So, she smiled in what she hoped was a sweet manner and took Elrond’s offered arm.

“I accept your offer my Lord,” Míriel said. “But I’m afraid I am not much of a dancer.”

Elrond led her away towards the dance floor, picking a spot on the edge of the crowd and drew her into his body, supporting her arms and waist with his hands. His movements were confident and domineering, the look of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and what she needed to do. Perhaps this dancing thing wouldn’t be too hard after all.

“I thought you might prefer the company of one who shares your blood,” Elrond told her, moving them gently on the spot. At her questioning look he continued. “I too am born of a mixed parentage. A half-elf. I see a lot of myself in the way you carry yourself, the uncertainty in your eyes. Fear not, no harm will come to you, nor will you be asked to leave despite what you fear.”

“How did you . . .?”

“It is not hard to see what troubles you my dear,” he chuckled. “In time you will learn to mask your emotions like every elf does, but you are still human, and as such wearing your emotions on your sleeve is a natural step. Thranduil has opened his home to you, he will not send you away so easily. He is my shield-brother, I have fought through many battles with him and I know him. He will not turn away from kin when they are in need.”

“He has been very kind to me,” Míriel admitted, quickening her pace slightly to match her partner’s steps. “Far kinder than I ever expected. Tauriel has been particularly kind, she is taking the time to teach me, to help me.”

“You are extraordinarily lucky. The chances of your survival must have been very slim if it is true what I have heard.”

Míriel tensed. “And what have you heard, my Lord?”

“Only that you are the daughter of a maiden of Rohan and that you were captured, tortured and then escaped from a band of orcs. Thranduil told me the story, he believes that I might be able to glimpse into your future and see what I can glean.”

“You can see the future?” Míriel asked, shocked.

“Bits and pieces. Usually I see things clearly, everything is crystal sharp,” Elrond told her. “But you are different. I can only see foggy outlines, as though there is a heavy mist across my vision. I suspect it is because you yourself are unclear as to what you will do and where you have come from.”

Míriel stopped dead in her tracks, swaying a little on her feet. Suddenly the room was closing in on her, it was so very hard to breathe. Elrond’s voice was calling her name, but he sounded so far away, so hollow. She felt a hand on the small of her back, ushering her off the dance floor and into a secluded corner. Her legs gave out and she fell against Elrond, her breathing coming in short sharp bursts.

“Deep breaths, in and out,” Elrond’s voice became clearer. The world came into sharper focus and soon she realised that she was leaning against his chest heavily and that her tears had soaked into his tunic. “Are you alright?”

“I think so,” Míriel whispered, hanging her head in shame. “I apologise. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

The attacks had been so frequent when Míriel had first arrived in the Greenwood. They stole her breath away and sent her body into painful spasms. Tauriel had figured out that the best way to stop them was just to sit with her quietly, humming a gentle melody that Míriel vaguely recognised until the attack had ceased. It made her feel so weak that an emotional moment would keep her from being normal just like everyone else. Elves were pillars of strength, being vulnerable was disastrous, she had paid attention to what the other elves around her were doing and saying. Weakness was not an option.

“Do not apologise. And you do not need to feel weak,” Elrond told her, steadying her before stepping back a little. He made sure to keep a supportive hand nearby just in case. “Most in this kingdom can never dream of the horrors you have seen. They have no understanding. It is remarkable in and of itself that you survived. But you did, and that is something to be proud of.”

“They will see me as different, a lesser being when they realise that I had a human mother,” Míriel said quietly, not daring to look at Elrond.

“Yes. They will,” he said simply. “But in the end, it does not matter. You are here, you are part of this world and the fact that your mother was human matters not. Your mother held out against a troupe of orcs for months on end, despite the torture they likely inflicted on her. That is more than most can say. Take pride in who your mother was, Míriel, and never forget her sacrifice.”

“I won’t . . . my Lord Elrond . . . you said you can see into the future yes?”

Elrond looked at her, a sad line creasing into his forehead. “You want to know if I can tell you who your father is don’t you?”

Míriel swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, not daring to speak. If Elrond could see into the future as he proclaimed, then there was a possibility he could see her father’s identity. There was a moment of silence as Elrond closed his eyes and focused on something that no one else could see. A few seconds later he opened his eyes and pierced her with a sympathetic look.

“I must apologise but I cannot see his identity,” Elrond said, his voice struggling. “I can tell you that you will indeed meet with him one day. But I do not know who he is. Forgive me.”

Míriel smiled, fighting back the tears that welled in her eyes. “Thank you, regardless,” she said. “It is a gift that you can tell me as much as you could. It is comforting to know that I will at least meet him one day. I do not think I am strong enough yet. I pray that on that day, I will be. Please, excuse me. I would like to take a walk to calm down.”

Elrond did not try and dissuade her, he simply nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to pass through the crowd. Míriel did not stop for anyone and slipped away from the party, unnoticed by Legolas and Tauriel who were twirling around the dancefloor with an elegance that had every set of eyes turned upon them. She did not feel the intensity of the gaze that followed her out of the ballroom, her exhaustion was simply too overwhelming.

*

When light dawned the next morning, and came filtering through the drapes in Thranduil’s chambers, he groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket up over his head to shield his eyes from the harsh light. The Dorwinion wine had flowed even after the party had ended and he had retired to his chambers, indulging in his private stash. It was all too easy to pour glass after glass. It had been a successful night then.

This illusion was shattered seconds later when a torrent of icy water came flooding across him. Thranduil sat up in bed, still naked on his top half, sputtering through his now drenched hair. He looked around angrily for the source of his disturbance and found it to his right-hand side, the culprit not even looking slightly ashamed.

“You still drink like a man who has just come of age,” Elrond tutted. “Disgraceful, old friend.”

“If you have only deigned to wake me to make useless comments I’d prefer it if you wait until an acceptable hour,” Thranduil snarled venomously, throwing his now soaking sheets to the floor and stumbling across his bedroom to don a robe. “By the Valar, did you have to use the water jug?”

“Yes.”

Thranduil swore at him in Elvish. Elrond, to his credit and ever the stony-faced lord, simply stared back at him with a sanguine smile on his face. After a moment of petulant glaring Thranduil gave up and went over to his desk where a second jug of water waited. He was tempted for a moment to toss it over Elrond’s head, to wipe that smirk off his face but reconsidered, pouring himself a drink to wet his parched throat. Dorwinion wine tended to leave a dry mouth in the mornings.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“To talk to you,” Elrond replied, barely holding back a rolling of the eyes. “Before I get down to business though I would like to enquire why you see fit to get roaring drunk every night in your rooms. I thought we had moved past this, old friend. The wine will not bring them back, nothing will, you know it as well as I do.”

Thranduil stilled, his hands began to tremble. Elrond allowed him a moment of time to collect his thoughts before he swept to his feet, coming to stand in front of Thranduil and piercing him with a look that he had seen all too many times before. It was a look of finality. He had seen it a few times, mostly pointed at Elrond’s twin boys when they got up to some sort of mischief. Thranduil never dreamed that it would be directed at him.

“Thranduil, you are my friend, you are my _gwanur,_ ” Elrond said, his voice soft yet firm. “I have been by your side from the moment you were betrothed to Valaina and will be until we both depart these lands.  But I will not watch you drink yourself to the point where your own son is ashamed of you.”

The proud Elven king blanched, as though Elrond had placed a branding iron to his skin. “Legolas . . . is ashamed of me?” he croaked, his knees shaking. “When did he . . . did he tell you that?”

“He has not spoken to me of such matters, but I see the path you are travelling down Thranduil. It will only lead to more heartache. Legolas worries for you but he also distances himself. He hears the whispers of your guards in the halls. It is time _mellon._ You must forgive yourself.”

“I don’t want to talk about them with you,” Thranduil snapped, staggering back towards his bed and sinking down onto hit. “Go away.”

“Syrthafin and Teren gave their lives to save yours, to save Middle Earth! That was not your fault. They were slain by goblins, no blame lays at your door Thranduil.”

“ _Stop!_ ” Thranduil shouted, his voice shattering. “Do not speak their names!” he commanded, pointing a shaking finger at his friend. “I will not allow you to . . . please . . . just don’t.”

Elrond wisely stopped his speech and instead settle for coming over to sit by his friend. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, as though he was preparing himself for something that he did not want to truly say.

“When Celebrían left these shores, it was one of the worst times of my life,” Elrond said, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “I scarcely remember the first few days after we farewelled her on the docks. I can not even say with certainty what I did but I found myself in the wine cellar, seeking something to numb the horrendous pain that was pulling at my heart. On the fourth day someone came down to the cellar and found me, dragged me to my rooms, bathed me and stayed with me until I slept peacefully.”

Thranduil did not speak, he did not need to. He knew this story.

“I never knew the identity of that person, though I asked many of my hands. No one knew, or if they did they were unwilling to tell me,” Elrond continued. “I was too ashamed to ask my children, fearing that they would be ashamed of me in turn. Then one day Arwen came to me in my chambers and demanded to know if I was going to leave her too. She was so frightened. It was she who told me the name of my saviour. The young king, freshly crowned. Thranduil, son of Oropher.”

“I could not abandon you to your grief,” Thranduil explained quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “Your children needed you then and they need you now.”

“And now I will do the same for you old friend. The excessive drinking needs to stop. You must stop blaming yourself. The time for healing has come. Valaina would not want to see you like this. Neither would your sons. Legolas needs you still, as do your people.”

“Hence the need for the ice water?” the King asked wryly, finally raising his head to give a sidelong gaze at his friend.

Elrond sniffed contemptuously at him and tossed his head. “Sometimes a quick action is needed for a quick response,” he snapped tartly. “Plus, it is good to see you thrown off, if only for a moment. Will you stop the drinking?”

“I will try,” Thranduil sighed. “I . . . I do not want Legolas to be ashamed of me. He is all I have left in this world. I promised Valaina that I would keep them safe. I failed Syrthafin. I failed Teren. I will not fail Legolas.”

“That is all I can ask.”

When Elrond left Thranduil alone in his chambers the Elven king fell back onto his bed, his hair fanning out around his head like a golden halo. For a while he simply stared at the ceiling, counting the snaking vines that were carved into the roof. He supposed Elrond meant well, though he was still uncertain about the necessity of the cold water, but the idea of giving up his wine brought on a wave of nausea. He had everything under control, Elrond was just being over protective. Besides, it was a special event last night he had a reason to indulge.

Thranduil yawned. He was due at a council meeting in an hour and so summoned his maid to draw a bath. It was going to be a long day.

*

_Three Weeks Later . . ._

Míriel fiddled with a single throwing knife; tossing it up into the air, watching it spin and fall back into her waiting fingers, as she leaned against a wall in the hallway outside Tauriel’s chambers. She was so nervous; her heart was hammering in her chest like anvil on metal. Today was the day she began her first day of training with the other potential Guard recruits. After months of intense one-on-one training with Tauriel, the older elf had declared Míriel ready to join the others.

She was the only half-elf among that group. And for that Míriel was certain things were not going to be simple. Legolas had warned her in their last training session together. The prince had been kind enough to give three afternoons a week of his time to teach her how to use her throwing knives at both distance and close combat. To Míriel’s surprise she had picked it up with relative ease, particularly the close combat aspect. The quick movements and lightning reflexes required intense focus and, whilst she was nowhere near Legolas’ skill level, it was encouraging to see that she could at least defend herself without chopping a finger off.

“Are you ready?”

Tauriel’s voice broke through her reverie and startled Míriel, but this time she managed to hide her shock. One thing that Míriel had learnt about elves was that it was important to keep your emotions hidden and in check. Elves felt things deeper than any other being in Middle Earth. It did make sense to her on a certain level, the panic she had felt anytime her mother . . .

Míriel shook her head, clearing the images from her mind. Now was not the time.

“As I’ll ever be,” she told Tauriel, giving what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile. The two set off at a quick pace, taking the path that Míriel now knew led to the training grounds. “Tauriel, do you believe I am ready?”

“Do you feel as though you are ready?”

“No. I don’t think I ever will be,” she answered honestly, still spinning the knife between her fingers. “That’s why I asked you,” she added, giving a short laugh.

Tauriel chuckled along with her. “Well, if you thought you were ready I would have more cause for concern,” she admitted. “Over confidence will not get you anywhere with the Guard. You will have to prove yourself, more times then you can even dream of. They will push you to your limits Míriel and I cannot step in. No matter how bad it gets, it will only look bad if I step in on your behalf.”

“I understand. I will not take it personally,” Míriel said calmly. “You have your role and I have mine. I don’t want pity Tauriel, I need to do this on my own. I am so grateful for your help, and Legolas’, but the time has come for me to take the next step. You cannot hold my hand for the rest of my life.”

Tauriel looked over at her, an odd look in her eyes. “You are the bravest soul I have ever met,” she murmured. “Well, its time. Go on, I’ll see you in a few seconds.”

They had reached the pathway that would take them down to the training grounds. Míriel paused at the top of the stairs, exhaling deeply to remain calm. Though her previous words had held a bravado, she did not feel it in this moment. She was serious about her statement to Tauriel though, she could not rely on her mentor for ever, nor the prince. And she didn’t want to.

Her mother had a saying that always stayed with her and she would need it now more than ever.

_“Sometimes Míriel, my sweet girl, the hardest things in life we must do on our own, even if we desire help more than anything else in the worlds. Sometimes we are tested and we must face this test on our own two feet.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do humbly apologise for the delay in uploading this chapter. I ended up working a lot of hours and was so exhausted by the time I got home yesterday that it simply didn't happen. 
> 
> But onwards to our scheduled viewing!
> 
> -
> 
> Translations:  
> Mae g'ovannen - Well met  
> Gwanur - Brother


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

  
_“I'm not sure about a life after this,_  
 _God knows I've never been a spiritual man_  
 _Baptized by the fire, I wade into the river_  
 _That runs to the promised land.”_

 

The halls of the Greenwood were buzzing with whispers and excited chatter. Word had reached the home of the elves that two wizards had been seen in the area. Speculation ran like wildfire through the wood, eventually reaching the ears of the trainee guard members who were currently doing hand-to-hand drills, supervised by Legolas and Tauriel. Míriel was practising leg sweeps with another trainee, the only other female in the group known as Vanessë, when she caught wind of a conversation between two of the other candidates.

“Did you hear? Two wizards have been sighted making their way around the Greenwood.”

“I heard that one of them is Mithrandir.”

“Impossible. He was last seen dining with dwarves at their midsummer banquet.”

Vanessë frowned in frustration. “If they have time to chit chat maybe they should be training harder,” she murmured to Míriel. “Nice sweep, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you,” Míriel said, taken aback by the compliment.

Vanessë was a very severe looking female elf. She had very sharp, angular features and even her joints seemed to be sharp lines as opposed to the typical feminine curves. She had light brown hair and a pair of dark, brooding eyes. Her appearance was almost like that of a bird of prey and at first Míriel had been absolutely petrified of her.

But Vanessë was the only one in their group that didn’t seem wary of Míriel, and to a further extent, her parentage. The news of Míriel being a half-blood had spread around the group like wildfire and one day Vanessë came stalking up to her at the beginning of one session. Míriel thought she was going to be dealt a tongue lashing or worse. Instead though, Vanessë had handed her one of the training swords.

“Since they won’t train with you I will,” Vanessë had said loudly, pitching her voice to embarrass the other elves. “They must be too frightened to lose to you. Come, give it your best shot.”

And from that day forward they had formed an unlikely comradery. Míriel had the suspicion that Vanessë didn’t have many friends in their group and so it was easier for both to exist side by side. They didn’t spend time together outside training but Míriel had no doubt that if Vanessë asked she would assist her for anything, and her new comrade would do the same.  

Legolas and Tauriel seemed to agree with Vanessë’s assertion that their group should be training rather than gossiping because Tauriel drew her bow and fired an arrow into where they were standing around chatting. The elves jumped in the air and scattered, Míriel had to stifle her giggles with a hand at the look of shock on their faces.

“If you are quite finished behaving like a group of old maids gossiping over tea and cakes we have training to get back to,” Tauriel told them waspishly. “The only two of you that are even remotely focused are Míriel and Vanessë.”

“You will never make it as a member of the Guard if you cannot remain focused,” Legolas added, stepping forward into the middle of their group. “Focus is key. It keeps you and your comrades alive. If you are not willing to keep all your attention on protecting the Greenwood then you are not in the right team. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the group chorused. Many of them did not appear apologetic, Míriel thought angrily, merely following the orders of their Prince.

“Now then, since you have wasted our time we are going to waste yours,” Legolas added, clearly irritated. “You have been all waiting to spar with me and Tauriel for the last week. Míriel, come, you will spar with me today. Vanessë, you are with Tauriel. The rest of you, archery practice.”

There was a few moments of angry grumbling but eventually the group dispersed. Míriel had only a moment to share a teasing grin with Tauriel before the red head led Vanessë away to begin their spar and left Míriel alone with Legolas. Míriel suddenly felt rather vulnerable. She had observed Legolas spar with the other Captains before, in the early days when she’d first arrived in the Greenwood, and knew he was a formidable fighter.

But then again, they hadn’t really spoken much since Míriel had stolen away from his birthday party. She had voiced her concern that Legolas would be angry with her to Tauriel, but the older elleth had assured her that Legolas was anything but angry. He had only been concerned. But still, Míriel couldn’t shake the nerves off as she faced up to the Prince.

“Thank you for offering to spar with me,” Míriel thanked him, bowing her head.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at her. “You need not thank me yet,” he told her. “You may end up sore after this spar, so you may want to retract that thanks afterwards.”

Míriel shared his friendly smile. “I didn’t think of it that way. I should apologise to you for running away from your party a couple of weeks ago,” she added softly, keeping her voice low so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “I was overwhelmed, and I did not wish to bother you whilst you and Tauriel were having fun.”

“I was not angry at you for leaving,” Legolas said, stepping close to keep their conversation quiet. Míriel felt her heart rate jump at the sudden closeness, she was still not used to having someone so close to her without warning. “I would ask next time that you tell me when things get too much so that we can escape together. I despise such parties, those in attendance have no interest in who you are, only that there is food, wine and music.”

“I will,” Míriel laughed, stepping back and adopting the stance that Tauriel had taught her. “Are you ready?”

Legolas grinned wickedly at her. “Are you?”

The spar began, the pair trading punches and kicks. Legolas was able to dodge every one of Míriel’s strikes. For her part, Míriel managed to evade only half of the attacks that the prince threw her way but she took every one and kept going. One of Legolas’ kicks buckled her legs and she tripped over her feet, a familiar feat that she had done on many occasion, and she hit the floor, the wind being knocked solidly out of her lungs.

“Are you alright?” Legolas asked, offering her a hand to help her up.

Míriel laid back on the grass for a moment, sucking air into her lungs and when she looked up at the proffered hand. A cheeky idea formed in her mind and she reached out, grasping Legolas’ forearm. When he tried to pull her to her feet, Míriel tightened her grip, reached out with one leg, locked an ankle around his knee and pulled him to the floor. As soon as Legolas hit the ground Míriel leapt to her feet and stood over Legolas, grinning at him wickedly.

“How did you . . .?” Legolas began, swinging back to his feet.

“I watched Tauriel employ a similar move while standing the other week when I observed her training with Candír,” Míriel explained shyly. “I wanted to see if it would work when fighting from the ground. It is not the smoothest technique, but I haven’t had time to practise it much.”

“Impressive. How many times did you see this move of Tauriel’s?”

“Once. It was so fleeting I almost missed it. I always struggle watching her movements, perhaps it is my human eyes struggling to keep up,” she lamented. “What?”

Legolas was looking at with a wide smile on his face, pride surging through his blue eyes. A small flower of warmth bloomed inside Míriel’s chest, she’d never seen anyone look at her like that before. It was such a strange sensation, someone was proud of her. Not that her mother ever wasn’t but there was something unique in the way Legolas looked at her. She felt like she belonged suddenly in that instant.

“You’re improving,” Legolas said, settling into his own stance. “Shall we go again?”

*

Thranduil didn’t necessarily hate wizards. It had been a rumour since the days he’d taken the crown that he despised wizards but that wasn’t the case. He simply found them to be grating on one’s sanity and were unable to speak in anything but riddles. They were frustrating and Thranduil much preferred to deal with them in small doses.

Radagast was, by far, the easiest to deal with. He was generally a mild-mannered man and tended to follow the elvish ideals of keeping the forests green and healthy. His behaviour when he had brought Míriel to them was sharper than Thranduil ever remembered it being. But then, the King knew that the wizard had been the one to find Míriel and likely saw her in a much worse condition than the one that Thranduil had seen.

They didn’t see much of Saruman in their part of the world, he predominantly dealt with the Golden Wood and Galadriel. For that Thranduil was sorely grateful, he found the White Wizard to be condescending. Whenever Saruman made the journey to their kingdom Thranduil was much happier to have Orthoron deal with him, unless it was unavoidable.

But Gandalf, oh the ever-frustrating Gandalf, was the one that Thranduil found particularly grating. There was never a straight answer from the wizard and he spent more time meddling in affairs that did not concern him than keeping watch over Middle Earth. Thranduil was also certain that the wizard was often high on the smoke from the Leaf he got from the Shire. 

Wizards brought nothing but trouble.

Which was why when one of the Guards led both Radagast and Gandalf into Thranduil’s throne room, the King groaned internally and had to close his eyes in a bid for patience.

“Greetings Thranduil, son of Oropher,” Gandalf hailed him, giving a sweeping bow.

“Mithrandir, you are welcome in these halls,” Thranduil greeted, leaning back into his throne. “And Radagast, welcome back to the Greenwood. Do you bring tidings of orcs?”

“I did not find the orcs that imprisoned Míriel,” Radagast apologised, flapping his hands in agitation. “There was certainly evidence of a struggle and tracks that lead away from the Greenwood but no sight of them after a few miles.”

“I received word from Elrond of Rivendell when he heard the rumours and set out to meet up with Radagast. Such tidings concern me,” Gandalf interrupted, stepping forward. “If the orcs are bold enough to capture women and torture them as they see fit then they may be bold enough to start launching attacks on strongholds.”

Thranduil sighed. Despite their differences Gandalf did have a valid point. “I agree with you,” he said. “It was why I sent my own team to seek out some answers for myself. Legolas and his team found two orcs on their own, they were only scouts of course, and they did not give away much in terms of their knowledge of Míriel and her condition.”

“It is also possible they were just two runaways, trying to stay away from more fighting and their kind to survive,” Gandalf sighed. “How is this young elleth faring? Such trauma most have devastated her.”

“She is thriving,” Thranduil told them, a hint of smug pride in his voice. “She has moments where she becomes overwhelmed with grief and emotion, but we are working with her to overcome these. She has started training with Legolas and other Guard members, she wishes to become a true elf. I have yet to observe her training myself, but I have been reassured that she is making remarkable progress. She is incredibly determined.”

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow. “Indeed?” he said. “I would be curious to meet her.”

“I am certain that could be . . .” Radagast began.

“Not at this time I’m afraid,” Thranduil interrupted, getting to his feet. “She is still nervous and wary of newcomers to these halls, she lives with daily fear that the creatures who harmed her will return for her, either that or send someone in disguise. I cannot allow you to see her at this time, she was quite overwhelmed at Legolas’ birthday, I would like to give her a chance to rest some more.”

This was true, Míriel did often get nervous around new people and was still adjusting to her new home. It was also true that she jumped every time someone came up behind her unexpectedly. But truthfully, Thranduil wanted to spare Míriel being heavily questioned by Gandalf. When there was a cause to follow the Grey Wizard tended to get tunnel vision and disregarded the comfort of those he dealt with.

No, better for Míriel to be left in peace for a while longer.

Gandalf seemed to accept his statement and nodded in understanding. “But of course. I should get back to the road, I would like to take tidings of this to the dwarves and the realms of men. They should be on the lookout in case these orcs are looking to replace their escaped captive,” he rumbled. “Come Radagast.”

Radagast seemed to linger only for a moment, locking eyes with Thranduil and begging a silent question of him. The elven king gave him what he hoped was a reassuring gaze. The Brown Wizard nodded in satisfaction and ambled away after his companion, twittering a merry song to the little robin perched on his shoulder. Thranduil watched them leave, reaching up to massage his temples, feeling a headache brewing. Dealing with wizards was such a stressful task.

*

It was late in the evening when Míriel finally stopped in her training. She’d been practising her throwing knives at the targets in the Grove for several hours now. After the training session with the other Guard recruits Míriel had quickly joined Tauriel for an evening meal before finding her way to the Grove. Over the last few weeks she’d learned that the Grove was one of the private training grounds, exclusively used by only a few people who preferred practicing in close quarters.

The trees were so close together that long range attacks were physically impossible. You had to work to use short and mid-range attacks. So far Míriel had figured out that only herself, Tauriel and Legolas used that training ground regularly. The other guards tended to favour the large open fields with the obstacle course and the Gauntlet. So, for private training, the Grove was the perfect place, you could guarantee you wouldn’t be disturbed.

Míriel had been training there that night for a few hours and her limbs were shaking with exertion. After a wide yawn she got up and went to collect her abandoned throwing knives. She had managed to reach each of her targets with her knives today, so she was pleased with the improvements. She had been so focused on her weapons that she did not notice she was being watched intently.

“Yes, I see now. You’ve definitely improved, your hard work is evident.”

Míriel squeaked and turned on her heel, drawing one of her knives into a defensive stance. When she realised that it was Legolas that was watching her. She exhaled, lowering the blade and stowing it away in one of its scabbards.

“Everyone likes to sneak up on people here,” Míriel sighed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “It’s a good thing I didn’t actually throw this at you!”

“I am quite accomplished at evading attacks,” Legolas shrugged. “Though I have no doubt you would have hit your mark.”

“How long were you watching me?”

“Not for long,” he said, moving into the clearing and removing one of her knives from the target. He spun it between his fingers. “It amazes me that you have such fortitude to succeed. I have never seen a potential recruit as determined as you are.”

Míriel shrugged, mimicking his actions. She could not meet his eyes. “I have a goal I suppose, perhaps that is what is different,” she said quietly. “My mother always told me that if your going to do something, you must give it everything you have. Otherwise what is it worth to you?”

A hand on her elbow stopped Míriel and she turned, coming eye to eye with Legolas. He had taken her elbow in his hand and was looking down at her with a soft look, almost pity in his gaze. Míriel flushed scarlet with shame. She did not want his pity.

“Do not pity me,” she told him sharply, attempting to pull away from his grip. “I don’t need it.”

“There is no pity,” Legolas said. It was almost a repeat of their first conversation here all those weeks ago.

Except this time was different. This time when Míriel considered Legolas’ face the pity wasn’t there anymore. It was a suffering, darkened hood over his eyes and his lips were pursed into a painful line. Something stirred in Míriel and she yearned to reach out and hold him, to hug him to her. But she didn’t, she knew elves weren’t comfortable with displays of physical affection.

“My mother . . .” Legolas began, his voice hollow and broken. “She died when I was very young. She went with my father and brothers to fight in a place called . . . Gundabad.”

Míriel dared not speak. This was the first time that Legolas had ever spoken of his own family, the first time he had ever opened up to her at any level. It was clearly a painful topic for Legolas and he closed his eyes, struggling to find the words he wanted. He had dropped his hand from her elbow at this point and she guided him to a nearby bench, setting him down on it, a comforting hand on his shoulder. When he made no move to remove it she smiled shortly to herself and waited for him to continue.

“My father will not tell me how she died. My brothers would not either and before I could make them tell me, it was too late,” Legolas said. “They died in Mordor, cut down by goblins. My father has refused to speak their names since then. From that point on I had to fight to prove myself to him. He believes me incapable of protecting myself.”

“Legolas I’m sure he does not think that. He is probably trying to protect you.”

“I am over a thousand years old, Míriel, I do not _need_ protecting,” Legolas scoffed.

“But you are still his son. You are still his child,” Míriel said, dropping her hand away and looking up pensively into the trees. “Even as I grew older and stronger, and my mother grew older and feebler, she would still try desperately to keep me safe.”

She swallowed painfully, a lump forming in the back of her throat at the memories that poured into her mind.

“I lost count of the number of whippings she took for me, of the number of times I heard her screaming in pain,” she cried, tears spilling over. “We were the only thing each other had. Because my father wasn’t around we had to lean on each other. Now I am on my own, I have come to appreciate how much my mother loved me. In a sense, I understand the King wanting to keep you close by. Sauron may be defeated now but there is always darkness in this world and it will always seek to destroy the light.”

“I only wish that he would talk with me about it,” Legolas said, leaning forward to drape his arms across his knees. “I cannot get a straight answer out of him about anything.”

“Perhaps you aren’t listening.”

Legolas looked up at her sharply, clearly confused by what she had just said. Míriel stared back at him impassively for a moment and then continued.

“Someone once told me that so often we do not listen to those who speak to us. Often we are only listening to the sound of people’s voices, waiting for our own turn to speak,” Míriel explained. “Perhaps, if we were to listen to the actual words people were speaking we could connect with people better.”

“You sound like Thredith,” Legolas said, shaking his head.

Míriel giggled. “Where do you think I got the saying from?”

They sat in silence together, watching the sun dip lower and lower behind the trees, painting the ground with beautiful golden sunlight. Eventually the stars began to twinkle in the sky above, signalling that the night had arrived. Míriel had never felt so comfortable with another person beside Tauriel before now. It was nice, to have another friend.

“We should head in before it gets too dark,” Míriel said, turning to her friend.

Legolas nodded. “Tauriel will be looking for you by now,” he teased. “She’s very protective of you.”

“We are like sisters. I don’t mind. But we should go, I don’t want her to worry too much.”

As she was getting off the bench to move inside Legolas reached out and took her hand in his own, stilling her movement. Míriel looked down at him questioningly, shocked at his boldness.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“Any time.”

 


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

_“In the middle of the night_   
_I go walking in my sleep_   
_Through the desert of truth_   
_To the river so deep_   
_We all end in the ocean_   
_We all start in the streams_   
_We're all carried along_   
_By the river of dreams_   
_In the middle of the night.”_

**Ten Years Later . . .**

The screams haunted Míriel for days afterwards, though she didn’t know it yet. She stood with other members of the Guard, just behind Tauriel and Legolas, on a hill, looking down on the Lonely Mountain as it rumbled and shook with smoke, screams and the almighty roar of a dragon. It went straight through to your bones, a dragon’s roar, sending tingles across your skin. Despite the warmth of the heat that radiated from the fire Míriel shivered uncontrollably.

Ahead of her Legolas stood ramrod straight at his father’s right hand, observing the carnage with empty eyes. The two had reconciled much over the past decade but there was still inevitable tension, which was clear to Míriel in the way they held themselves now. Thranduil seemed unwilling to take the first steps towards the Lonely Mountain, his lips pinched together tightly. Legolas, on the other hand, seemed like he was itching to run down the hill and dive into the fray. But he dared not move unless the order was given.

Tauriel seemed to be completely unaffected, at least that what was most would have seen. But Míriel knew her friend better than that. The red head was clearly distraught, her fingers clenched and unclenched around her bow, a nervous habit Míriel had noticed throughout the years. Míriel too was feeling the strain. The dwarves were fleeing now, screaming and wailing in their grief, their pain and their shock. They needed help.

At that moment a lone dwarven figure, regal looking and covered in dirt and blood, stopped in the middle of the fray. He’d seen them.

“Help us!” he bellowed, pleading.

Míriel looked over at Thranduil, biting her lip. There had been bad blood between them and the dwarves of Erebor for centuries, she knew that from her history lessons with Thredith, but things had become more tense in the last decade. No one really knew why Thranduil was so opposed to the dwarves, it appeared he hated them vehemently and with a passion that Míriel had never seen before. She didn’t quite understand the hatred, but it was not her place to question her king.

A beat passed, and then another, and Thranduil cleared his throat.

“Come,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “I will spill no elvish blood against a fire drake. Let us return.”

 Tauriel’s head whipped around to stare at him, shock written all over her face. “My King . . . the Dwarves. . .”

“Brought it upon themselves,” Thranduil snarled. “They delved too deep and lusted for gold. Let them wear their penance.”

The redheaded captain recoiled as though the King had struck her. Míriel too recoiled in horror at the venom in his words. But Legolas did not react, instead he struck out, summoning the rest of the Guard. For a moment Tauriel wrestled with something internally, standing stock still and staring with wide eyes at the carnage. Eventually Míriel went to her mentor’s side and touched her elbow with a finger.

“We must go Tauriel,” she whispered. “What hope do we have against a dragon?”

“It is not the dragon,” Tauriel replied quietly, her voice trembling. “How can we abandon them like this?”

“The King has given his commands,” Míriel insisted. “I do not want to leave them anymore than you do. But we must go, or we will be left behind.”

Tauriel lingered only for an extra moment and if Míriel hadn’t seen it for herself she would have thought it impossible. A single tear fell down Tauriel’s cheek and then, in an instant, the newly instated Captain had wiped it away. The mask fell back across her features and she straightened her back, moving past Míriel to follow the rest of their kin back to their woodland home.

Míriel sighed sadly and looked back one last time at the burning kingdom. The dwarven figure that had called for the help was staring up the hill at where her kin had once been, a look of burning hatred etched on his bearded face. She shook her head at him, hoping to convey a message.

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, dear readers, was Dreamcatchers.
> 
> In the coming months I hope to finish and start publishing Dreamhunters - the next in the series - which will be set during the events of the Hobbit. Thank you to those who have left kudos on this work and I hope to see you return when Dreamhunters begins. 
> 
> \- imaginationem


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